


Never Learn

by NeQuittezPas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeQuittezPas/pseuds/NeQuittezPas
Summary: Chuck couldn't leave with Amara before he fixed the mistakes he made with Lucifer. Sarah went looking for God and wound up as the devil's babysitter.





	1. Chapter 1

_Hallelujah! Let it all just burn.  
_ ' _Cause they ain't the type for listenin',  
_ _And they sure ain't never gonna learn._  
\- Never Learn, The Devil Makes Three

* * *

The church was quiet. Not surprising. It was a Wednesday afternoon, after all. Most people were at work. Father Patrick had noticed her as she entered and shot her an inquiring, sympathetic look, but Sarah shook her head.

She was here to talk… but not to him.

She slid quietly into a pew and levered down the kneeler so she could be comfortable on her knees. Clasped her hands, bowed her head. Drew in a deep lungful of air and let it out in a deep, rattling breath. She began to pray.

"Dear God. I don't know if you're listening… I tried praying before. Hundreds of times, it seems. At home. At church on Sundays. Thought maybe if I caught you at home during off hours, I could get to the top of your inbox." Sarah shook her head, breath shaky. "I hope it works, because I… I  _need_  you to hear me."

Sarah paused, glancing at the front of the church. The altar stood there, and above it, the carved visage of Jesus on the cross. Forever in pain, dying for humanity's sins, but with a look of deep compassion on his face. She couldn't stand to look at it, so she looked back to her hands and closed her eyes, forcing back tears.

"The Book of Job was always my least favorite story, you know?" One traitorous tear slipped down her face, and Sarah scrubbed it away before returning her hands to their clasped position. "It seemed so cruel, to take everything from someone so good, so faithful, just to test him. To test his love." Sarah shuddered out a breath. "So if this is a test of faith, then I guess I've failed."

Sarah turned her face back to the image of Jesus, eyes accusing. "I doubt you. I  _question_  you. Did I do something to deserve this? Are you—are you going to burn down my house, next, or should I be expecting boils? What do I have to do to get back what you took from me? Apologize? Confess?"

Her words seemed to echo in the church. She should have felt surrounded by God's presence, by his love, but instead she just felt alone. More alone than she'd ever felt in her entire life.

"You know, I've had my doubts before, but now I wonder if I even  _want_  you to hear me. Because at least, if you're not listening, if you're not  _real_ , then all of this is just random misfortune in a godless world. And while that's a terrible thought, it's not as terrible as the thought that this is part of some… bigger plan." Sarah huffed a wet, joyless laugh. "Everyone here keeps telling me that God never gives you more than you can handle, so in case you are out there and you're listening, this is it. This is… more than I can handle."

Sarah sighed, rubbing away more tears. She sat back in the pew, kicking up the kneeler feeling like she'd run a mile. "Amen."

"I don't like the Book of Job, either."

Sarah jumped. She hadn't heard the doors, or footsteps, but she'd been a little preoccupied. She hastily tried to wipe away any evidence of tear tracks as she turned.

The guy was skinny. Older than Sarah, but not much taller, dressed casually, with dark, curly hair and a thick scruff on his face. Looking at him hurt. Looking at  _any_  man who bore a passing resemblance to Isaac hurt, and Sarah's eyes burned with new tears. She forced them back. The guy was offering her a sympathetic, almost fatherly look. Sarah's hand twitched, but she resisted the urge to slap it off his face.

"It didn't happen that way," he said, casually tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Bible gets a bit right, a lot wrong. You ever play the game 'Telephone'?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. Sarah didn't say anything, but he shrugged anyway. "It's kind of like that."

"What, are you peddling a new gospel?" Sarah asked, voice dry, though a little croaky from tears.

"No." The guy looked thoughtful, maybe a little sad. "No, I'm not in the writing business anymore."

Sarah stood from the pew, gathering her purse. She wasn't in the mood to make conversation with some stranger, especially in the middle of a church on a Wednesday. No one with their shit together ever hung out in a church on a Wednesday. That's why Sarah was here.

"I'll let you be alone with your prayers," she said, politely neutral, trying to edge past him.

"I heard you, you know." Sarah paused, sighing impatiently.

"You were listening?" Sarah resisted calling it 'eavesdropping'. She was talking out loud in the middle of a church, after all, although she hadn't meant to be overheard.

"Yes," he said, not looking the least bit shamed about it. There was an odd, merry gleam in his blue eyes. "Today. Yesterday… last week. Forever, really."

This guy  _really_  didn't have his shit together. "That's nice." Sarah edged away, another few inches towards the exit.

He sighed, exasperated. "I'm not crazy, Sarah. I'm God."

Sarah froze. "How do you know my name?" She was certain she hadn't mentioned her name in her prayer. Maybe he'd asked Father Patrick, or maybe this guy was the  _dangerous_ kind of not-having-his-shit-together.

"I just told you." He snapped his fingers. Faster than Sarah could blink or comprehend, the church was gone, replaced with a dim but clean-looking bar, not unlike the one from Cheers. "I'm God."

It took Sarah a long moment to process the impossible relocation. She waved her hands through the air, still half-expecting to feel pews, and then knocked on the wood of the bar. It felt real. This was real. Which meant…

"Am I about to be smote?"

"What?" God gave a surprised 'psh'. "No. Of course not. No, I've got a favor, of sorts, to ask of you."

Her? Do a favor? For God? "O...kay. No offense, but I kind of just got done… uh, berating you slash wishing you didn't exist." And was not entirely convinced she hadn't suffered a stroke in the pew and was having some kind of weird death-hallucination. That'd be just her luck. "And now you want a favor? From me?"

God shrugged, unconcerned, rounding the bar and pouring a shot of high-quality tequila. "Not a favor, then. How about an assignment?" God slid the tequila across the bar, where it stopped neatly in front of Sarah.

"Do I have a choice?" Sarah asked, brow furrowed.

"Nope." God popped the 'p', seeming altogether too cheerful for Sarah. She knocked back the tequila. "See, you were pretty spot on, before. I've been an absent father. Answered maybe a dozen prayers in the last few millennia, made a lot more mistakes." God poured himself a beer from the tap and sipped it. "And I don't plan on stepping back in. In fact, I'm leaving. Going on a bit of a… family sabbatical, let's call it."

God poured some more tequila into Sarah's glass. Sarah sipped it, this time, figuring God would tell her what he wanted her to do if she just listened.

"But before I skip town again, I've got a small loose end to tie up. One of my bigger mistakes, really. One I'm not sure  _I_  can fix." God's eyes landed meaningfully on Sarah. "That's where you come in."

"God—you—want  _me_  to solve a problem that you,  _God_ , can't solve?"

"Call me Chuck." He looked vaguely insulted, but waved a hand flippantly. "The fact that I  _am_  God is kind of what makes me unable to solve the problem. I," Chuck pointed slowly to himself. "Want you," he pointed to Sarah. "To take care of my son."

"What, Jesus?" Sarah blurted, disbelieving. She glanced around, having half-expected Chuck to point out his son at the end of his little speech, but they were still alone in the bar.

"What?" Chuck looked just as confused for a moment, then shook his head. "No, Lucifer."

Sarah stared for a long moment. "Like,  _the devil_ , Lucifer?"

"I wish you wouldn't call him that, but yes. That Lucifer." Chuck took a sip of his beer, seemingly waiting for more protests. Sarah was happy to oblige.

"You want me to take care of Lucifer. Fallen angel, rebelled against heaven, Lucifer." Sarah repeated, then added, with a furrowed brow, "Who is… real?"

Chuck's brows raised. "You believe in me, but not in him?"

Sarah shrugged. "Figured he was just a made up story to scare us away from pornography and pre-marital sex."

"Didn't work on you, though, did it?" Chuck asked slyly. Sarah's cheeks burned, and she coughed. "Anyway, yes. He is real. And in retrospect, locking him away in Hell for millennia was… probably not the best way to handle the situation." Chuck took a deep swig of his beer. "He's free, now, and I don't want to lock him up again. But I can't exactly let him walk around freely, either." He cast Sarah an imploring look. "You could not imagine the trouble he'd cause."

Sarah believed him. "What makes you think I can keep him from causing trouble?"

"Oh, I don't," Chuck said immediately. "No, no, no, I'm stripping him of his powers. Did you ever see the movie  _Thor_?" Sarah was silent, unable to follow the non-sequitur. "Whatever. You'll get it eventually. No, I need you to… play babysitter, I guess. Show him around, try and show him there's some good in humanity, make sure he doesn't starve or stick his fingers in any sockets."

"You're joking." Chuck treated Sarah to a distinctly unimpressed look. "You're not joking. Okay, why  _me_ , of all people?"

Chuck shrugged. "Honestly? I'm kind of short on time. You were praying, right time, right place, and seemed like you'd be a good fit."

"A good fit," Sarah parroted, not following.

"You have a lot in common." Chuck made a list on his fingers of the hand not currently holding a beer. "Absent fathers, basically no faith in me, a tendency to suppress all your feelings but anger…"

"Okay, ouch."

Chuck waved an impatient hand. "But unlike him, you have  _hope_. Faith in humanity. And you're not in the habit of throwing tantrums." He took a sip of beer, then hummed. "Anyway, I'm running out of time. Let me introduce you to the kid."

Chuck snapped his fingers. 'The kid' was a grown man, at least six feet tall, with tousled dark blond hair. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it was definitely more along the lines of 'horns and cloven hooves' than 'male model.' He looked deeply confused for a moment, before his eyes landed on Chuck and hardened.

"Dad." He greeted cautiously, then faux-pouted. "Auntie Amara was mean to me. Although…" He stretched contently, sighing. "I see you fixed up my old digs. Fits better than ever. Thanks!" His last words were colored with just a hint of snark and sarcasm. He seemed content to ignore Sarah altogether, and she was fine with that. She wasn't sure she really wanted to have the devil's attention. "How'd you get your mojo back? Last I saw you, you were on your deathbed."

God could  _die_? Was that even possible? And if it was… how?

"Lucifer," Chuck greeted him with a nod, eyes soft. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, slow and cautious. "Amara healed me. I'm leaving again for a while… spend some quality time with my sister."

God had a sister? Sarah leaned against the bar, wondering just how wrong the bible got it.

Meanwhile, Lucifer's face was a thundercloud. "You're abandoning me? Again?"

"I'm not abandoning you," Chuck said patiently. "Look. I got a sitter." Chuck jerked his thumb at Sarah, who froze. Lucifer glanced at her once, dismissively.

"A  _human?_ "

Chuck sighed, sounding exhausted. "Yep. And, for the foreseeable future, so are you." He snapped his fingers. Lucifer stumbled a little, looking paler than before, but twice as angry.

"What? Why?!" His voice shook, and he stalked towards Chuck, who set his beer down on the counter. "I  _helped_  you. I  _obeyed_  you. Amara could have killed me, and you, and now you're going off to frolic about the universe with her?"

Chuck watched Lucifer's display with sad eyes. "I made mistakes with Amara. I plan to fix them. But I don't think I can fix you." He surveyed Lucifer mournfully for a moment before seeming to force some cheer. "So! Introductions are in order, and some ground rules. Lucifer, this is Sarah. Sarah, Lucifer." Chuck snapped again, and Sarah gasped as a burning heat flared in her chest for just a moment before fading just as quickly. Chuck eyed Lucifer seriously. "Now you're connected. She dies, you die. She hurts, you hurt. And I'd stick with her, if you know what's good for you."

"You can't do this to me," Lucifer ground out, disbelief warring with betrayal. "Not again."

Chuck ignored him, raising his fingers again. "Have fun, kids. Try not to burn the house down. And Lucifer?" Lucifer glared, and Chuck's eyes went soft again. "I am sorry." He snapped.

Sarah found herself back in the church again before she could blink. She'd have thought the whole thing was a dream, that she'd somehow fallen asleep in a pew—except she was standing in the aisle, right next to six feet of pissed off ex-devil. Sarah floundered for a moment, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do, when Lucifer rounded on her, eyes glinting dangerously.

"Well, Mary Poppins?" His voice was low, and he crowded into Sarah's personal space, looming. "What makes  _you_  so practically perfect?"

Sarah edged backward nervously, the edge of a pew digging into her tailbone. Even if God had made Lucifer human, he still had half a foot on her, and probably a good forty pounds. "Uh. Praying. Wrong place, wrong time."

"Seriously?" He scrunched up his face and drew back, seeming to only now notice they were in a church. He scoffed. "Typical." With a sneer, he strolled past her, out the doors of the church. Sarah wondered, vaguely, if she should try to stop him. Watching after him  _was_  her mission from God, but Lucifer didn't seem particularly interested in being watched after. And anyway, what had God done for her lately? Exactly nothing.

With a sigh, Sarah picked up her abandoned purse from the floor and exited the church. She'd go home and heat up a frozen pizza. Maybe a glass of wine. Or an entire bottle. It was already looking like an entire-bottle-of-wine kind of day when she woke up this morning, and had only gotten weirder and more bizarre since then.

She made it down the church steps and halfway through the parking lot when she spotted a man collapsed on the ground. She began to run over immediately, but slowed her steps to a cautious shuffle when she saw it was Lucifer. He was face down, so she wasn't sure if he was conscious. Tentatively, she nudged him with the toe of her shoe.

"Ow." He groaned weakly into the pavement.

God's words rang in Sarah's mind suddenly, and she repeated them, frowning. "And I'd stick with her, if you know what's good for you?"

Lucifer struggled to his knees, seething. "I'm going to kill him."

Despite herself, Sarah was a little curious. "Can you?"

He sighed, glaring at the sidewalk. "Probably not."

Sarah sighed, reluctantly offering him a hand. Lucifer ignored it, heaving himself to his feet with some difficulty and glaring at her as if this whole predicament were her fault. Sarah ignored the look. If God's words about sticking with Sarah were literal, she guessed his "she hurts, you hurt," warning was, too. She looked speculatively between the church and where they stood in the parking lot.

"What do you figure your radius is? 100 yards?" Lucifer didn't answer. He seemed to have decided to silently brood instead of acknowledging Sarah. Sarah shrugged, rummaging in her purse for her car keys. "Whatever. I'm going home. I suggest you follow me if you don't want to collapse again."

Sarah walked, and Lucifer followed. His mind was clearly elsewhere as he settled into her black sedan. Sarah shook her head, still disbelieving as she carefully pulled out of the mostly-empty lot.

"Satan riding shotgun," she muttered, glancing at the—man?—out of the corner of her eye. "Sure, why not." It was certainly the weirdest turn her life had ever taken. It had even distracted her, for a time, from the empty, gnawing ache that burned in her chest every day.

She exhaled a shuddering breath, tamping down the grief and anger and pain until she could deal with it at a more opportune time. Like when she wasn't driving. With Lucifer in the passenger seat.

Lucifer seemed to come back to himself when she finally pulled into the driveway, examining her house with a critical eye and a slight curl of his lips. "Nice pad."

Sarah closed her eyes for a moment as a wave of grief nearly set her staggering. She was saved from answering him, though the alternative wasn't much better.

"Sarah!" Sarah sighed heavily. Her neighbor, Mrs. Munroe had been a stay-at-home mother, but with an empty nest she'd made it her business to mother the entire neighborhood. For obvious reasons she'd taken an interest in Sarah lately. Sarah knew exactly what look she'd have on her face, too. Sure enough, as she turned, she saw overwhelming pity in Mrs. Munroe's smile. "How are you holding up, dear?"

Sarah grit her teeth for just a second before forcing herself to relax. "I'm doing alright, Mrs. Munroe," she lied pleasantly.

But Mrs. Munroe wasn't even looking at Sarah anymore. She was sizing up Lucifer curiously. Lucifer, for his part, looked at Mrs. Munroe not unlike a cat would watch a goldfish. Attentive. Predatory.

"And who's this?" Mrs. Munroe's tone was mostly innocent curiosity, but there was also a hint of disapproval.

Because she was still looking at Lucifer, Sarah indulged in an exaggerated eye roll. "My cousin," she said blandly, voice sharp.

"Oh, of course, dear." Mrs. Munroe's face immediately melted back into syrupy pity. "That's good. You should have your family's support right now."

Lucifer's eyes darted between Sarah and Mrs. Munroe, calculating. "Sorry, Mrs. Munroe, but I should get… Lou, settled." Sarah gently, but firmly, grabbed Lucifer's arm, pulling him up the porch stairs with her. "Long flight."

"O-oh, of course." Mrs. Munroe looked a little baffled. Calling after them, she asked, "No bags?"

"Lost!" Sarah shoved her key into the lock. "Never fly United, right?" Door open, Sarah maneuvered herself and Lucifer in as quickly as possible, shutting the door with a snap. She rested her forehead against the frame, sighing.

"Cousin, huh." Lucifer smirked, eyes roving over what he could see of the house from the entryway.

It was a mess. A small heap of shoes by the door, a half-empty coat closet with a cardboard box propping the door open. Half the kitchen was visible from the door, including an overflowing trash can and a few nearby takeout containers that hadn't made it into the bin, as well as a few empty bottles of wine. An empty dog bowl was upended on the floor, the mat beneath it askew.

Sarah shifted nervously as Lucifer's too-intelligent eyes took it all in. The state of the house was a little too reflective of her mental state, but she hadn't exactly been expecting company.

Lucifer whistled. "What is it? Midlife crisis? Cancer?" He started walking around the first floor, musing aloud, "Didn't think Dad would leave me with a defective babysitter. But then again, I  _was_  in time out for an awful long time."

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths. She heard Lucifer's steps halt briefly in the living room. His pace was quicker as he returned to the front hall, eyebrows raised mockingly as he waggled a picture frame in her direction. "Divorce?" It was a wedding picture. Her and Isaac.

Lucifer's brows drew down at Sarah's lack of response, then rose in realization. "Aaaah. He's  _dead_." He said it with a sort of sadistic glee. Sarah shook her head, stalking into the kitchen and searching for her bottle opener. So what if it was barely 2 o'clock? The devil himself was in her home. She needed a goddamn drink.

Lucifer followed Sarah into the kitchen, squinting at the picture. "Aww. And you were such a  _cute_  couple." Sarah watched with half-lidded eyes as she sloshed a more-than-generous helping of wine into her glass.

Lucifer pulled out a seat at the kitchen counter, sitting down and propping his chin in his hand. "When'd it happen?" he asked, as if he was asking her to spill out how Isaac had proposed, rather than when he'd died. "From the amount of trash and empty wine bottles, I"m guessing… a week?"

Sarah exhaled shakily and swallowed a huge gulp of wine. "Five months."

"Really?" Lucifer looked mockingly impressed. "Your restraint is truly impressive."

A fat tear rolled down Sarah's face. She ignored it, gulping more wine. She tried to ignore him entirely, actually, and focus on what the hell she was going to do with the devil. She couldn't just live with him, here, for "the foreseeable future." Mrs. Munroe's judging looks alone made it untenable.

Lucifer's eyes traced the tear track on Sarah's cheek, looking fascinated, then thoughtful. His gaze turned back to the empty bottles of wine on the counter, a speculative look dawning on his face. Sarah grabbed her glass and the rest of the bottle, hoping to lock herself away in her bedroom, away from him, before he could be even more of an asshole. She passed Lucifer by, heading towards the stairs and trying to ignore the blossoming vindictive glee on his face.

"You were pregnant." The declaration was quiet, but it echoed. Sarah didn't stop. She trudged up the stairs, into her bedroom, and locked the door behind her. She set the wine bottle and the glass down on her dresser, hard, and stumbled to the bed as she finally lost control of her breathing. The raw ache in her heart that had been torturing her for weeks seemed like it had been ripped open, fresh and new and real. She couldn't control the sobs that shook her, or the tears that fell. She let herself cry, ugly and loud, for what felt like hours. She sobbed until her tears ran dry, her head ached, and her mouth felt stuffed with cotton.

As her eyelids grew heavily, she huffed bitterly. "So much for 'He never gives you more than you can handle'..." She muttered into her pillow. The last thought she had, before she fell into an exhausted sleep, was that she hoped Lucifer wouldn't burn the house down.

* * *

When Sarah stumbled down the stairs the next morning, she hoped and prayed, dearly, that the events of the day before has just been a dream. The house looked unchanged, and all was quiet. She allowed herself to hope… until she smelled coffee.

Sarah's shoulders sagged as she found Lucifer sipping a cup of coffee from one of her favorite mugs. He mockingly saluted her with the mug as she entered, and she sighed heavily as she fished another mug from the cabinet.

"Was kind of hoping all of that was a messed up dream," Sarah muttered, pouring coffee into her mug and sniffing it experimentally. It didn't  _smell_  like a trap. Strong and dark, like she liked it. She took a tentative sip, and then another, bigger one.

The devil could make a decent pot of coffee. Who knew?

Lucifer eyed her warily for a moment. "Nope." Lucifer popped the 'p', much like God had yesterday. Sarah wondered who had picked up the habit from whom. "Just regular, messed-up reality."

"Should've been an atheist," Sarah murmured into her coffee. She braced herself for more taunts, more of Lucifer poking at her still-raw wounds, but he didn't. He seemed content to sip his coffee and scribble on a notepad he must have found while snooping. She wondered if he'd slept at all. He didn't seem tired, and he did look a little rumpled—but he'd looked a bit disheveled yesterday, too.

A loud gurgling sound made Sarah halt, coffee halfway to her lips. Lucifer stiffened, frowning deeply.

"...was that your stomach?" Lucifer glared at the kitchen counter, seething, which Sarah guessed was a 'yes'. "Okay then…" Not letting Lucifer starve or stick his fingers in sockets  _had_  been part of her instructions. She didn't have much in the way of food, though. She opened the fridge to take stock of what she had in the house, before turning to Lucifer with a raised eyebrow. "I  _can_  feed you normal food, right? I don't need to get any dead infants? Virgin's blood?"

Lucifer's eyes were dark and angry, and Sarah was grateful for the counter between them. "I'm human," he said shortly. "I…  _eat_ , what humans eat." He said the word distastefully.

Sarah shrugged, pulling some eggs and bacon from the fridge. While Lucifer seemed moody, he didn't seem to be trying to be a huge dick on purpose the way he'd done last night, so Sarah made an attempt at polite conversation while she dug through the freezer. "What did you eat before?"

"I didn't."

Sarah shut the freezer, holding a crumpled plastic bag with frozen potatoes. "You didn't eat?"

Lucifer gripped his pen tightly. Sarah wondered if he would break it. "Angels don't need to eat."

Sarah paused in the act of pulling pans out of the cabinet, looking at Lucifer closely. He was more than just angry, she thought. That look, it was mostly angry—maybe as much as 80% angry, but the other 20%? She knew that look all too well.

Sadness.

She set a few pans on the stove and started to heat them. "I forgot about that," she said quietly, arranging her ingredients on the counter next to her. "I mean, I know the stories, but most of the time when I think 'devil', I think 'demon'."

"I am not, and could never be, a demon," Lucifer said, spitting the word as if it was something foul he'd scraped off the bottom of his shoe. "But!" Sarah glanced over her shoulder. Lucifer seemed to have either shrugged off or suppressed his anger, as the mocking smile was back. "If it makes you feel better, most of the stories you humans would attribute to me, were demons. Except the greatest hits. You know, Garden of Eden, corrupting humanity, creation of demons, ruler of Hell…"

Sarah laid some bacon in one pan and emptied the frozen potatoes into another. "So you've really never been to Georgia?"

"'Fraid not." Lucifer was watching the pan of bacon with intent curiosity. The smell of it cooking was beginning to fill the kitchen, probably making his hunger worse.

"Can you at least play the fiddle?"

Lucifer blinked, looking away from the bacon to squint at Sarah. "Was that a  _joke_?"

Sarah flipped the bacon. "I think if I don't try to have a sense of humor about housing the devil I will  _literally_  go insane, so yes. It was a joke."

"Mm. Fair enough." Lucifer shrugged, propping his chin in his hand once again, watching Sarah work with half-lidded eyes. Sarah stirred the potatoes and gulped some more coffee, wishing it was something stronger.

A few minutes later, Sarah plated the bacon. She paused before adding the eggs to the pan. Normally she'd ask how he liked his eggs, but she guessed, at this point, he didn't have a preference. With a shrug, she cracked the eggs in the pan, figuring she'd find out if he liked them over-easy soon enough.

As the eggs sizzled, Sarah turned, finding Lucifer still staring intently. With a sigh, she handed him a piece of bacon. He stared at it suspiciously for a long moment before his hand snaked out to take it. He cautiously sniffed it before taking bite.

His eyes went wide as he chewed, surprise evident. Sarah laughed.

"Probably should have given you something else first. Not much else measures up to bacon." She turned to stir the potatoes and flip the eggs. As she took plates down from the cupboard, she noticed Lucifer had already completely devoured the piece of bacon.

She plated the eggs, potatoes, and bacon. Feeling inexplicably generous, she gave Lucifer the lion's share of the bacon. She handed him his food and some cutlery, then settled in beside him at the other chair at the counter.

Breakfast with Satan. Sure, why not.

Lucifer picked at the food tentatively at first, then nearly inhaled it. Sarah ate hers at a more sedate pace, eying Lucifer cautiously out of the corner of her eye. When he'd cleared his plate, he looked vaguely surprised. He frowned deeply at it, then pushed the plate away with such force that it rattled on the counter.

"I need paint." Lucifer's tone was demanding, and he looked at her expectantly. Sarah chewed her potatoes, wondering if he expected her to stop eating and fetch it for him.

"Why?" She took another bite of eggs.

Lucifer's face darkened with annoyance. Probably wasn't used to being questioned. He'd have to get used to it, Sarah decided. She wasn't anyone's servant. Well, maybe God's. He didn't give her much of a choice there. But she wasn't about to be Lucifer's errand girl.

"Protection." Lucifer said shortly. When Sarah merely continued to eat her breakfast, he rattled out a frustrated breath. "You are currently harboring the Prince of Darkness? One true ruler of Hell? Demons are looking for me. Even those loyal to me aren't above taking advantage of my…  _fragility._  I need paint to ward the house, or they  _will_  find us."

Sarah choked down her food with effort. "God didn't mention a demon manhunt."

Lucifer scoffed. "He wouldn't." He gripped the edge of the counter bitterly, knuckles white. "He doesn't care what happens while he's gone."

Sarah put their dirty plates in the sink, gazing around at the house thoughtfully. Lucifer snapped at her impatiently. "Do you  _want_  to be slaughtered? Paint. Now."

"Best I have right now are a couple of Sharpies." Sarah rummaged in a drawer and tossed them to him. Lucifer scowled at them darkly. "But don't get comfy. We're leaving."

It was hard enough living in this house, seeing the space she'd shared with Isaac and knowing he'd never drape his jacket over a chair or leave dishes in the sink again. She refused to keep Lucifer here, walking the same halls he did, pitiless eyes examining and criticizing everything she'd ever cherished.

"Ooh, road trip."  _There_  was the asshole from yesterday. "Where are we going?"

Good question. "I'll think about it while packing."

"Oh, oh! Can we go to Disneyland?"

Sarah ignored him, tromping up the stairs. She thought about where to go as she pulled out a duffel bag and began shoving in clothes, toiletries, and other essentials. She thought, for a moment, about packing a bag for Lucifer, but quickly discarded the idea. Even if Lucifer could fit into Isaac's clothes, she refused to dress the devil in her dead husband's things. She'd stop at a shop on the way out of town and get him some clothes and essentials.

When Sarah returned downstairs, Lucifer was scribbling strange symbols on the walls in Sharpie, whistling a merry tune. God, that was going to be a bitch to remove later.

Lucifer turned as the last step creaked, offering Sarah a wide, toothy smile. "Mary Poppins." He gestured at the wall proudly. "Drew you a picture."

"You're very talented," Sarah remarked dryly, hefting her bag over her shoulder. Lucifer's smile widened. "You ready to go?"

"Ooh, pretty please, can I drive?"

"Absolutely not."

He heaved a put-upon sigh, pouting exaggeratedly. "Fine, then. I call shotgun!" He strolled out of the house, settling into the passenger seat of Sarah's sedan once again.

For a moment, Sarah stood in the doorway, looking back at the house. Her house. Their house. Shaking her head, she shut the door, locked it, and walked away.

She started the car and pulled out, heading for the nearest Target first. Lucifer pressed his face against the window, watching with exaggerated interest. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Provo."

"Utah?" Lucifer asked, eyebrows raised as he turned to look at her. He scanned her up and down. "You rocking some magic underwear under that turtleneck?"

Sarah rolled her eyes as she made a right turn. "Not everyone in Utah is Mormon."

"I'm not hearing a 'no'," he sing-songed.

"Oh my God, I am not discussing my underwear with the devil," Sarah muttered, signalling and swiftly turning into a large parking lot.

Lucifer tsked. "Taking Dad's name in vain. Naughty."

Sarah slammed the car into park and climbed out of the car. "Get out, loser. We're going shopping." Lucifer exited the vehicle with a spring in his step before raising an eyebrow at the store. "You need clothes and we need food. I'm not dragging you to a mall  _and_  a grocery store." Sarah explained, stalking to the entrance and wrestling a cart free.

Sarah eyed Lucifer speculatively. His eyes danced with mischief and malice as he watched the other shoppers in the store, his mouth turned downward slightly in apparent disgust. They'd be out of here quicker if he picked out clothes while she shopped, but she was hesitant to let him out of her sight, especially when his face looked like  _that_.

"Could you stop looking like that?"

Lucifer blinked at her, too innocently. "Like what?"

"Like you want to murder everyone in the store."

"Oh, but I  _do_ ," he said earnestly.

Okay, that was disturbing. Although really, what had she expected? Lucifer had seemed ready to strangle her in the church yesterday, before he'd gotten distracted. Likely the only thing staying his hand was God's warning that if Sarah hurt, Lucifer would hurt—but that protection didn't extend to other people.

Sarah clamped a hand on his arm. "Okay, yeah, that settles it. You're sticking with me."

Lucifer smiled a mocking smile, rearranging their arms so they were linked at the elbow, and began humming. It took Sarah a moment to place the tune, as she hadn't heard it in years: Jolly Holiday, from Mary Poppins.

With a sigh, Sarah led Lucifer through the store. She grabbed clothing first, holding up shirts and trying to gage with her eyes if they would fit his tall frame. Lucifer occasionally broke from his loathing glares at the others in the store to bat his eyes at her or pose when she did this, smirking at Sarah's visibly glowing exasperation. Every once in awhile Lucifer would pluck something she'd put in the cart and put it back on the rack or toss in something else, which she allowed, since he had yet to attack the other patrons in the store.

When she came to the rack of socks and underwear, she tried to be as quick and efficient as possible. Lucifer had other plans, resting his head on her shoulder and frowning at the packages in her hands.

"What, no magic underwear for me?"

Sarah rubbed her temples, wishing she'd had more coffee before she left. Come to think of it, she hadn't emptied the pot… it'd probably be positively disgusting my the time she got back.

The next thirty minutes were exhausting. Sarah rushed through the store as quickly as possible. In the toiletries section, her hands had reached automatically for the deodorant and bodywash Isaac had preferred. She stared at it for several long moments before shoving it back on the shelf and picking up some other brand and tossing it into the cart with a clatter. She grabbed some snacks and drinks for the road and directed Lucifer and the cart back towards the front of the store. Just before checkout, she abruptly halted in front of a display. Lucifer shot her a puzzled look at the sudden stop, but Sarah merely shook her head and grabbed one of the plastic-wrapped DVDs from the display, tossing it in the cart and heading to the checkout lane.

The older woman who rang them up smiled fondly at Sarah and Lucifer's still-linked arms. Sarah offered her a queasy smile back, hoping she'd hurry it up.

"Newlyweds?" The woman asked curiously, ringing up the items.

Sarah reared back like she'd been smacked. Sure, their arms were linked, but—Sarah glanced down. She still wore her wedding ring, and, curiously enough, Lucifer wore one, too. She made a mental note to ask him about it, later. Sarah's head jerked up as Lucifer slid his arm out from hers and wrapped it around her shoulder instead, pressing her almost painfully into his side.

"Yep! Still hard to believe sometimes, isn't it, honey?" The checkout woman, who had furrowed her brow at Sarah's bizarre reaction to the question, looked mollified, not picking up on the muted sarcasm and derision in Lucifer's tone.

"Yes, unbelievable." Sarah hastily jammed her card into the machine, waiting impatiently for the chip to process.

"Oh, I know that feeling." The woman ran a finger over an old-fashioned band on her own finger, smiling fondly. "Going on forty years, now."

Sarah offered an absent-minded congratulations as the machine pinged and she yanked her card out and shoved it back in her wallet. Lucifer, arm still wrapped around her, remained planted in place, and made an impressed sound. "Any wisdom for us youngsters?" He squeezed Sarah's shoulders, and she stumbled a little.

The woman smiled warmly. It transformed her tired, wrinkled face, making her seem years younger. She leaned forward, as if imparting a secret. "The most important thing is to never take each other for granted."

Sarah's eyes filled with tears against her will, and she blinked them back determinedly. She thanked the woman quickly and pushed Lucifer through the checkout lane, scooping up their bags and shoving a few in his hands while she attempted to control her breathing. Lucifer allowed it, though he frowned deeply, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Fifteen minutes later, when Sarah had gotten herself back under control and they were gaining speed on the highway, Sarah recalled why she'd gotten so worked up in the first place.

"Why are you wearing a wedding ring?"

Lucifer looked down, as if surprised at the reminder, and twisted the ring on his finger disinterestedly. "This vessel was married. Wife and kid. Killed in a home invasion."

Sarah ignored the stab of pain at the mention of the loss of a child and spouse. "Vessel?"

"This  _meat suit_ , this body," Lucifer clarified, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. "You didn't really think angels looked like this, did you?"

"I'm still getting used to the fact that angels, and more specifically  _you_ , exist at all. I haven't thought much about the mechanics."

Lucifer huffed. "I am magnificent. My true form is a glory to behold—not that you could. One glance at me and you'd burn your pretty little human eyes out." His tone had an unnerving amount of longing in it. Sarah squeezed the steering wheel.

"So the face you're wearing… he used to be a person?"

Lucifer hummed an affirmative. "Nick. He's dead now, of course. His body was never designed to hold me, so he burnt out, oh, years ago, now." Lucifer flexed his hands. "Dad must have made a few upgrades when he remade the body to contain me. Fits me almost as well as my true vessel, which works out, since that one is…  _occupado_."

"True vessel?"

Lucifer sighed gustily. "Not important anymore." He tilted his head back and forth for a second as if he was reconsidering that statement. "Except for the fact that he and his brother are probably trying to find and kill me."

"Wonderful." Sarah drummed the steering wheel with agitated fingers. "But your wall art will protect us?"

"From them?" Lucifer sounded skeptical, face twisting in a grimace. "Not for long, no." He clapped his hands, seeming unconcerned about people wanting to kill him. Sarah resisted the urge to bang her head on the steering wheel, but it was a near miss. " _Anywho_. Nothing we can do about that. So. Where are we headed?"

"A small town outside Eugene, Oregon."

"Because…" Lucifer gestured for her to continue. Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Because my grandparents left me a cabin out there." Lucifer was quiet for a moment, giving her a squinty-eyed, skeptical look. "What?"

Lucifer leaned his elbow on the center console, propping his chin in his hand and tapping his finger against his lips. "Just expecting a little more  _effort_ , I guess. You know, show me the error of my ways? How humanity is good? Hospitals, orphanages, soup kitchens—the highlights?"

Sarah huffed. "No."

Lucifer's eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

Sarah frowned. "Yeah, God told me to, but he's gone, and I don't particularly like being told what to do. That aside, given the evil glares you were leveling at toddlers and grandmas alike in that store, I get the feeling I could take you to every damn hospital on this green earth and you wouldn't be convinced." Sarah risked a glance at Lucifer, who was watching her, wide-eyed and almost fascinated. Uncomfortable with the close attention, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel again. "I figure you're going to be a sulky, annoying bastard no matter what, and I seem to be stuck with you, so I'm at least going to try to relax instead of trying to drag you around like a recalcitrant child."

Lucifer had leaned back, eyes narrowed in annoyance when she called him a sulky bastard. "You know, I'm accustomed to fewer insults and a lot more cowering and groveling from people like you." His voice was low and dangerous. Sarah ignored the tone.

"Yeah, well, up until yesterday I didn't believe in you. Hard to be afraid of someone you don't believe in."

Lucifer's anger vanished as if it had never appeared, and he looked amused instead. "You believed in Dad, but not me."

"Well, probably not for much longer if he hadn't divinely intervened," Sarah admitted. "But no, I figured you were made up. A scary story to keep the faithful in line, or a scapegoat to blame for human sins and atrocities."

Lucifer hummed, then sat up abruptly. "Take this next exit."

"What? Why?" Sarah cautiously got into the right lane.

"You're gonna get a tattoo," Lucifer sing-songed, then frowned. "And me, too, now that I think about it."

"I am  _not_  getting a tattoo," Sarah protested. She flicked her signal on to get back in the left lane.

Lucifer tutted, wagging a finger at her. "You will if you don't want to be possessed by a demon."

"Jesus Christ," Sarah cursed, flicking off her signal and taking the exit at the last possible moment. Lucifer directed her to the tattoo parlor he'd spotted off the highway. He'd apparently kept the pad of paper and Sharpie from this morning, and he drew what looked like a star surrounded by flames.

He strolled in authoritatively. The parlor was mostly empty, what with it being before noon on a Thursday, so Lucifer was able to catch the eye of the heavily pierced and tattooed woman behind the counter instantly. "Can you do this?"

The woman eyed the design disinterestedly. "Sure."

"Great!" Lucifer smiled a close-lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Matching tattoos for me and the lady."

The woman behind the counter raised one pierced eyebrow. "What, right now?"

" _Yes_ , right now." Lucifer said impatiently. The woman rolled her eyes, but obediently walked back to talk to one of the artists in the back of the shop, handing him the paper with Lucifer's design on it. They conversed quietly for a moment, and the woman returned to the front to give them a quote. Sarah nodded and gave the woman her credit card, and soon after both she and Lucifer were in the back. There was only one artist in at the moment, but luckily the design was fairly simple, and all black, so each tattoo only took about an hour.

Lucifer went first, shrugging off his button-up shirt and rolling up his left sleeve to give the artist access to his left bicep. His brow was furrowed and he frowned the whole way through, but that was the only indication of his pain. When he was finished and a bandage had been placed over the raw flesh, Sarah sat down in the chair.

Frowning, she wished a female artist was available. But she'd have to make do. She eyed Lucifer. "Turn around." His eyebrows raised. "I don't want a tattoo that'll be visible in my normal clothes, so  _turn around_."

Lucifer rolled his eyes, but complied, arms crossed. Sarah gave the tattoo artist an apologetic look, unzipping her jeans and levering down her underwear to expose her left hip. The artist was completely unfazed and got to work immediately. Lucifer hissed out a breath when the needle started buzzing, shoulders tense, but Sarah ignored him, staring at the ceiling and trying to breathe through the pain.

When they walked out of the parlor an hour later, both of them walked stiffly back to the car. Sarah rummaged in her packed bag for a loose, high-waisted skirt that would minimize friction on her bandage. She pulled it on over her clothes before gingerly removing her jeans.

Lucifer's face was dark and irritated when she finished. When he had her attention, he yanked down the side of his jeans, exposing his own left hip. Sarah's eyebrows shot up in surprise, then furrowed when she spied the bloody, irritated skin. An exact mirror of the state of her own hip, minus the ink. Lucifer looked unamused.

Sarah winced. "She hurts, you hurt," she repeated God's words. "Here, lay down in the back. I've got a first aid kit in the console."

Lucifer complied, glaring angrily at the roof of the car as Sarah retrieved the first aid kit. She glanced apologetically at his face as she pulled out a disinfectant wipe. "This'll sting."

Lucifer shrugged carelessly, but hissed as she wiped the blood away. He turned his glare on her as she pulled out a soothing ointment. "Your arm is fine," he observed petulantly.

Sarah glanced down at her left bicep, covered by her sweater. It was true, she hadn't felt any pain while Lucifer received his tattoo.

Lucifer scoffed. "So I get stuck with all  _your_  pain, but  _Dad forbid_  you feel mine."

Sarah gave him a dry look as she applied a bandage to his hip. "If killing me wouldn't kill you, I'd be dead already, wouldn't I?"

Lucifer gave her a pitying look, as if she'd asked a very stupid question. "Yes. Of course. Obviously."

Sarah zipped up the first aid kit efficiently. "Yep, I officially no longer feel sorry for you. Try not to let that get infected."

Sarah wolfed down a protein bar and an apple before they got back on the road and shoved the back of snacks at Lucifer in hopes that, if he were chewing, he'd be less vocally obnoxious. She turned on the radio just for background noise.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah watched Lucifer examine the bag of snacks. His face scrunched, and for a few moments he just stared at the food, looking conflicted. There was annoyance in the lines around his eyes and frustration in the set of his mouth, but something in his posture or his eyes also read something like sadness. He tried one of the protein bars and apparently didn't find it to his liking, tossing it back in the bag with a muttered insult, before slowly eating a bag of potato chips and a bottle of lemonade, staring out the window.

The lackluster lunch break bought Sarah almost an hour of sulky, relative quiet before Lucifer finished his food and became bored. She withheld a sigh as the mischievous, taunting glint returned to the man's eye and he began fiddling with the radio, flipping through stations.

He skipped over a classical station and a latin station, looking bored, and then paused for half a minute on a Christian station before huffing a sharp, sarcastic laugh and moving on. He paused with his hand on the dial a minute later, the intro to something familiar filling the car as a slow, crooked grin blossomed on his face. Warily, Sarah wondered what the hell on the radio could make Lucifer smile like that, and she glanced at the dash. Classic rock.

"They're playin' my song." Lucifer released the dial, sitting back in the passenger seat. Sarah understood when the lyrics began:  _Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste…_

Sarah shook her head, focusing her attention back on the road. Lucifer hummed along and waved his fingers a bit, as if conducting, but a few glances out of the corner of her eye made Sarah think he wasn't nearly as amused as he tried to seem. His eyes were cold. As the song faded out and Billy Joel's "Piano Man" began to play, he turned those cold eyes on her.

"Sympathy for the Devil." Lucifer hummed. "Never thought the Stones were  _particularly_ sympathetic, despite the name. What about you, Sarah? Do I have your sympathy?"

Sarah focused on the lines of paint speeding by her on the road, trying to ignore Lucifer's eyes, which looked like cold chips of ice. Still, she mulled the question over for a long moment, taking the notion seriously. Finally she said, "Maybe."

There was a small twitch in the corner of her eye that Sarah guessed might have been some motion of surprise, but she kept her eyes fixed on the road and the signs they passed. They had only recently crossed into Idaho, and she was hoping to make it close to the Oregon-Idaho border before she had to stop for the night and get some rest.

"Maybe," Lucifer repeated, voice mocking. Sarah ignored his tone.

"I've heard a lot of different theories for why Lucifer fell, but I never really believed in you, so I didn't give them much attention," Sarah admitted. "So I guess it depends on why you rebelled in the first place."

Lucifer was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, he seemed genuinely curious. "Why do you think?"

Sarah finally glanced at him, taking in the odd mix of emotional cues he was having mixed success at concealing. "The two theories I'm most familiar with are that you were too prideful, and thought that the love and worship people gave to God should be given to you— _or_ , and I think this one sounds more likely, you were too prideful to serve mankind."

"Prideful," Lucifer repeated with a scoff. "Is it pride not to want to serve a pile of flawed, immoral cockroaches? To put them before my  _Father_?" Lucifer turned to look out the window, fixing his eyes on the sky now turning pink-purple on the horizon. "My only 'sin' was loving my Father too much."

"Really?" Sarah arched an eyebrow, skeptical.

"Well,  _was_ ," he corrected with a lazy shrug. " _Before_  he cast me out. Which he admitted was  _his_  fault, by the way, not mine. The Mark corrupts everyone who bears it, but could Dad admit he made a mistake? Nooooo. He had to lock me away instead." Lucifer shook his head, shifting his gaze from the painted sunset to the squat, dark rectangles of buildings in the distance. "But humanity… Dad won't admit it, but  _that_  was the real mistake."

Sarah didn't understand half of what he said, but honed in on the last bit. "You're seriously more upset about people existing than being locked up for thousands of years?"

"If Dad had just admitted that humanity was a mistake, I wouldn't have been locked up in the first place," Lucifer said simply. "My brothers would be alive. Dad would still be around." His voice was almost wistful for a moment before it turned bitter. "Instead? Gabriel is dead. Raphael is dead. Dear big brother Michael is insane, driven mad by the same Cage that held me for so long. Half the angels in heaven are dead, and the rest are in leaderless chaos. All for the sake of  _you._ " Sarah waited for him to continue. After a few minutes of silence, she thought perhaps his tirade had ended. Eventually, though, Lucifer spoke again, voice casual. "Personally, I don't think it was worth it."

Sarah considered this. It was impossible for her to conceive of a world without man, a world of just angels. What would the world even look like? Would it be without war? Pain, illness, hunger? All of that sounded good—perfect, even. But Sarah couldn't wrap her head around the idea.

Maybe it was because she was human, but she simply couldn't fathom an eternal life of peace and beauty and bliss. That sort of idea was a child's daydream, the faithful idea of heaven, but not Earth. Not…  _reality_.

Sarah knew the value of joy because she'd experienced sorrow. She knew the value of love because she'd known apathy and loneliness. Happiness and sadness, triumph and loss, euphoria and grief and anger and embarrassment… She couldn't imagine all the things that made life wonderful and good without all the struggles and ills that made her ache for happier times.

Maybe that was the flaw Lucifer saw in humanity.

"Are angels so different?" Lucifer shot her a dry look. "No offense, but clearly the sins of humanity aren't just for us. Pride, envy, wrath… surely you can't rebel against heaven, fight against other angels without those faults."

"Pft. Most angels are sheep," Lucifer said dismissively. "They exist to obey. Free will wasn't meant for angels, and it's not something they picked up easily when Dad left. Their sense of good and evil is black and white: following orders good, disobedience bad." Despite supposedly thinking angels were above humans, his voice was derisive as he described his 'brothers,' and downright venomous when he added, "Michael was just the same."

"I'm having a little trouble seeing the moral superiority here."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "They may be naive, but they could have learned. Where humans are weak, angels are strong. They don't know hunger, or thirst, or lust. They are patient and just and reverent." Lucifer's words were fierce now, but delivered in an even tempo, as if he's repeated this list so often before that he could rattle it off in his sleep. "And yet Dad gave all of his greatest gifts—the Earth, the garden, free will, his  _love_ —to you dirty, flawed little animals. You, who disobeyed him. You, who slaughter each other in the millions in his name, or deny he exists, turning around and worshipping pagan monsters. You don't  _deserve_  it."

"But you do?"

"Most of all." Sarah got the sense the words were supposed to come out confident and self-assured. To her, they sounded more wistful.


	2. Chapter 2

They reached the cabin in the early evening the next day. Lucifer immediately began to wander about the place, snooping, but this had only ever been a vacation spot, so Sarah didn't think he'd discover anything too personal or painful here. At most, there might be an old family photo album laying around somewhere. It wouldn't have any pictures of her and Isaac.

The cabin was small, built of logs in the early 1900s, and contained only a living room, two small bedrooms, a cramped bathroom, and a simple kitchen. The furniture inside was a mish-mash of different styles, decades, and patterns, selected for function and comfort rather than style. There was a single large bookcase on the main wall next to the old fireplace, which was packed with well-worn books and old DVDs and VHS tapes. Nearby, on an aged wooden trunk, sat a small, decades-old television with a built-in VHS player. A slim DVD player was perched on top, like an afterthought.

Sarah had always found the cabin a respite. She remembered coming here with her grandparents in the summers and winter holidays, hiking the nearby trails. Her grandfather had known the names of all the plants and animals in the area, and had pointed them out to her and quizzed her on them each time they visited. When they returned from a day of hiking, her grandmother would have a warm, hearty meal ready for them. If Sarah closed her eyes in the kitchen and took a deep breath, she could almost smell her grandmother's cinnamon apple pie.

She had never come here with Isaac. Sarah's grandparents were already getting too old to make the trip when they had first started dating in college. Her grandfather had died soon after they got engaged, and her grandmother had followed shortly after their wedding. And while Sarah missed them dearly, she had spent many long, full years with her grandparents. Their deaths were expected, and thinking about them didn't inspire the raw ache she still felt when she was reminded of her late husband.

No, all the memories of this place were fond ones. They could stand up to Lucifer's scrutiny in a way her home back in Provo couldn't.

Sarah put away the groceries she'd picked up at the edge of town while Lucifer explored. She had set water to boil in preparation for a simple pasta dinner when Lucifer emerged from the smallest bedroom with an armful of old fingerpaints. He shot Sarah a short look that mixed triumph and annoyance, as if to say, 'I have what I need now,  _no thanks to you_.' He began painting at the threshold, ancient-looking geometric symbols that reminded Sarah of the cuneiform tablets she'd seen pictures of in her history textbooks.

"What do each of these things do?"

"First three are wards against demons. This," he gestured jauntily with a hand covered in bright red paint, "wards against angels. I'll also have to ward against witchcraft and scrying, and put a Devil's trap under the rug." He nodded towards the worn, faded rug in front of the front door to the cabin.

"Devil's trap?" Sarah repeated. If it did what it sounded like it did, she wondered what the use was.

Lucifer shrugged exaggeratedly. Though he faced away from her, Sarah was pretty sure he'd rolled his eyes. "Small misnomer. Useless against me, but effective against demons." He made a walking motion with paint-covered fingers. "Demons walk in, but don't walk out—unless the trap is broken."

Sarah blinked. "What, like a demon roach motel?"

Lucifer shot her a pitying look over his shoulder. "Demons are quite a bit more difficult to kill than roaches. They won't die if you just leave them in there."

"Charming," Sarah said absently. "How do you kill a demon, then?"

" _You_  don't." He said dismissively. "Angels can smite them with one touch. Humans can kill them with special weapons or spells, of which we have neither.  _When_  demons eventually find us, we'll have to leave. Unless they're stupid enough to bring one of the few weapons that can kill them."

"Fantastic." Sarah shook her head, returning to the kitchen to put the pasta in the boiling water. By the time she'd plated two heaping servings of spaghetti, Lucifer had managed to cover most of the free space on the wall with bizarre symbols in various colors and sizes, and was on his knees on the ground, finishing up an odd circular formation in black paint.

"Dinner's ready." Sarah put the plates and silverware on the table. Lucifer finished his work with a flourish and stood, grimacing and stretching. His hands and shirt were covered in a rainbow of colors, and Sarah couldn't suppress a smile when she spotted a small smear of blue on his cheek. She nodded to the sink in the kitchen. "Wash your hands first."

"Yes, Mary Poppins." Lucifer strolled into the kitchen with a roll of his eyes, and Sarah decided not to tell him about the paint on his face. Instead she sloshed a generous portion of wine into her glass. When Lucifer returned to the table with clean hands a minute later, he quirked a mocking smile which didn't reach his eyes. "Drinking on the job again?"

"You know, if you were anyone but the devil, I  _might_  feel a little shame about it." Sarah sipped her wine and nodded towards the plate at the opposite end of the table, encouraging Lucifer to sit and eat. "If it makes you feel any better, I would be getting equally drunk without you. Just… at home, alone, and unafraid of being murdered by demons."

"That is a comfort." Lucifer tucked into the pasta, occasionally shooting Sarah looks which contained an odd blend of disgust and curiosity. When he finished he remained at the table, still piercing her with that odd stare as she took her time with her food and drink.

Finally Sarah sighed. "What?"

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, looking mockingly thoughtful. It seemed that nearly everything Lucifer did was mocking. Sarah wondered if he was even capable of being truly genuine and sincere.

"I don't see the appeal." He gestured vaguely at Sarah's wine glass. "Drinking poison on purpose to muddle your mind and lose your inhibitions."

Sarah's lips quirked for a moment at the idea of the devil being a teetotaler before tugging down slightly. "Sometime's a muddled mind is more peaceful." At Lucifer's considering stare, Sarah huffed an amused breath. "Tell you what, kiddo." Lucifer's brows arched upwards, which Sarah supposed made sense, since he had to be at least several thousand years old. "If you promise not to tell your dad, I'll let you have your first drink."

Lucifer didn't respond right away. He seemed to be considering it. Sarah stood, fetched another glass from a cupboard, and poured him a smaller serving than she'd given herself. She wasn't sure if the body God had whipped up for Lucifer had any sort of tolerance for alcohol, but she figured it'd be better to start slow. When Sarah held the glass out to him, Lucifer took it confidently and sniffed it cautiously before taking a small, experimental sip.

Sarah smiled a little at the genuine surprise that had Lucifer's eyebrows rising. He took another sip. Blue eyes landed on Sarah. "Not bad, for poison."

"Wait 'til you try whiskey." Lucifer drained his glass quickly and reached for the bottle to refill it. Sarah watched, amused, but made no move to stop him. "Are you trying to get drunk?"

"Might as well." Lucifer drained his glass again. "Try new things, right?" He emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass. Sarah shook her head, but rose to fetch another from the kitchen.

"Can't believe I'm getting drunk with Lucifer," she muttered as she worked out the cork. She prayed Lucifer would be a happy drunk, and not a mean one, but she wasn't holding her breath. Lucifer reached for the bottle when Sarah returned, but she slapped his hand away gently. Lucifer stared, apparently not believing her audacity.

"Slow down. I'm not cleaning up after you when you puke your guts out."

"I barely feel anything," Lucifer said, almost petulant. Sarah snorted softly.

"Yeah, because you just ate a full meal and now you've had three glasses of wine in fifteen minutes. Wait thirty minutes. If you still want more after that, you can."

Lucifer scowled and rolled his eyes, pushing away from the table and stalking over to the bookshelf, perusing the books and movies with narrowed eyes. Sarah poured herself another generous glass of wine—earning a short glare from Lucifer—and watched him as he ran fingers along the spines of books and pulled out movies to read the summaries on the backs of the cases.

Lucifer turned to Sarah after a few minutes, waggling a VHS tape in her direction with a raised eyebrow. "All Dogs Go To Heaven? Really?"

Sarah shrugged. "Why not? Average dog's better than the average person, anyway."

Lucifer titled his head consideringly. "Fair." He turned back to the shelf. "Beauty and the Beast… The Breakfast Club… Ooh!" He picked up another VHS tape and showed it to Sarah with a mocking smile. "Mary Poppins."

Sarah rolled her eye towards the ceiling. "How are you feeling?"

Lucifer seemed to consider it for a moment, bouncing on his feet as if to check the weight and feel of his limbs. "Mm… warm." Sarah poured some more wine into Lucifer's abandoned glass, and he crossed the room to pick it up triumphantly. He drank more slowly this time, though, probably sensing that Sarah wouldn't let him simply chug his way through another bottle.

Over the next hour, Lucifer wandered the room, snooping in books and movies and tossing the occasional snarky question over his shoulder. Sarah watched with growing amusement as Lucifer's steps became less and less coordinated and his words became slower. After a while, he gave up on exploring, flopping heavily onto the couch face-first with a sigh.

Sarah stood and approached him when he mumbled into the pillows. "Do you want to try that again, or do you want to continue your impression of a drunk, petulant teenage girl?"

Lucifer glared at her with one eye. "I said, this sucks."

He wasn't really helping his case, but Sarah let it go, because the situation did suck. His shoulders slumped in such sheer defeat that Sarah actually found it hard to look at him. Looking away, she spotted one of the VHS tapes that Lucifer had pulled from the shelf sitting on the table. On a whim, and because she wasn't interested in any further drunken sympathy for the devil, she popped the VHS into the television and hit 'play'.

Lucifer extricated himself from the couch cushions at the opening music of 'Mary Poppins', shooting Sarah a sort of blank look she couldn't interpret. To avoid it, she refilled both of their empty glasses while Mrs. Banks began to sing, then curled up into the opposite corner of the couch to watch the movie.

Over the next two hours, both she and Lucifer crossed the line from tipsy to drunk. As he was no longer walking about and talking, Sarah found it difficult to tell just how well Lucifer was coping with the alcohol. She kept shooting him measuring looks from the corner of her eye, trying to gage his drunkenness and general emotional state. He was watching the movie with that same curious, blank look he'd given her earlier, though occasionally his mouth would lift into a smile or his face would darken in a thunderous scowl. She wasn't sure if these expressions were caused by the events of the movie or some other, internal motivation, but she kept a wary eye on him just in case.

Lucifer's face was dark as the movie ended and Mary Poppins left and Mr. and Mrs. Banks took their children to the park to go fly a kite together. Sarah began to wonder if putting this particular movie on was such a good idea after all. She took a deep gulp of wine and took her time putting the tape carefully back in its case and then back on the shelf.

"He's not coming back, you know." Lucifer's voice was soft. Sarah turned to look at him, and found him watching her intensely. The mockery and malice which was usually just under the surface, even when he smiled, was absent now, replaced with something raw and sad.

"Last time he left for  _millennia._  At least then I could wait for him to realize his mistakes. Now?" He lifted his hands, frowning at the lines on them. "I've got maybe another thirty of forty years, and only in the very unlikely event that nothing manages to kill me before I die of old age. Humans are so…  _frail._ " He spat the word like an insult. Sarah was reluctantly impressed at how articulate he was managing to be after consuming an entire bottle of wine in one evening.

"I don't think he'll let you die," Sarah offered quietly.

Lucifer was unimpressed. "You don't know him."

Sarah shrugged. "True, but… I don't know. This seems like a lot of effort." At Lucifer's blank look, she clarified, "As in, why go to the effort of making you human, and making all these rules, if he didn't care? He could've just left. Or killed you, I guess. But he didn't."

Lucifer scoffed. "He doesn't have the guts." He levered himself up from the couch, wobbled for a moment, and then began to pace about the room. "He couldn't admit humanity was a mistake, so he just ignored it while it got worse and worse. He couldn't admit that locking me away was a mistake, either—he just ran away. That's what he  _does_!" Lucifer's voice rose to almost a shout, and the volume seemed to startle him for a moment.

When he continued, he spoke more quietly, but just as fervently. "And now  _I'm_  the mistake. But instead of sticking around to fix it, or having the spine to just kill me, he does  _this_. And I'll die,  _weak_ , and  _human_ , and  _alone_." Lucifer's shoulders slumped, and he seemed to deflate a bit. "Not that he'll take responsibility for that, either."

"But this is fixing it." Sarah didn't realize she'd said that aloud until Lucifer rounded on her, blue eyes sharp with cold anger. "His words! Not mine! Geez, drop the scary face."

"His words." Lucifer repeated. His voice was still cold, but he no longer looked outright murderous. "He spoke to you, before he brought me there," Lucifer realized aloud, before snapping his attention back to Sarah's face. "What did he say?"

"Um." Sarah frowned, trying to force her drunken mind to recall the conversation. "Well, before he got to the whole 'take care of Lucifer and try to show him the good in humanity' bit, he said he wanted help… 'fixing one of his bigger mistakes.'" Sarah made a sloppy attempt at air quotes. "And he said it was a mistake he didn't think  _he_  could fix."

"Oh, but  _you_  can fix me." Lucifer huffed a short, bitter laugh.

Sarah stared for a moment, confused, mouthing the words she'd just spoken to see if she'd missed something. Finally she said, " _You're_  not the mistake."

Lucifer looked genuinely surprised. "He said that?"

Sarah blinked, thinking. "Well, no. But he didn't  _not_  say that." She could see Lucifer growing impatient with her drunken vagueness, so she rushed out, "I got the feeling the mistake was locking you up and letting things go on for so long. Not  _you_ , yourself. I mean, he could kill you, right? Or… unmake you and remake you, or turn you into a goldfish, or whatever. He's  _God_. But for whatever reason he wanted you to be you, but he didn't think he could make up for what he did. Or he thought what he did to you would make it too hard to…" Sarah trailed off, getting frustrated at her inability to translate her thoughts into words. "Am I making any sense right now?"

"No," Lucifer said dismissively, but he looked thoughtful, so Sarah guessed he might've been lying. Or sarcastic. It was hard to tell after so much wine. "Did he say anything else?"

"No? Wait, something about Thor…"

"The pagan god?" Lucifer arched an eyebrow. "How much did you drink?"

"Not much more than you," Sarah said, annoyed. "Stupid devil. Stupid alcohol tolerance. Oh," Sarah remembered. "He wished I wouldn't call you that." She turned to Lucifer, curious. "Do you mind it?"

Lucifer looked curious himself. Sarah watched as he swallowed heavily. "Dad said that?" Sarah nodded. Lucifer looked away, but Sarah caught his eyes blinking rapidly even as his mouth quirked up at one corner. Feeling like she was intruding on something she wasn't meant to see, Sarah cleared her throat, bid Lucifer goodnight, and beat a hasty retreat to her bedroom.

Sarah woke with a slight headache in the morning. She'd chugged a large bottle of water before collapsing into bed the night before, and so the discomfort from her night of drinking was nothing a cup of coffee couldn't solve. As the clock crept past 8 am to 9 and then to 10 and Lucifer didn't re-appear from the bedroom, Sarah wondered if she should have forced Lucifer to drink some water, too.

She popped her head into his room tentatively. "Uh. Lucifer?" It still felt odd to call him that, but she didn't have anything else to call him, either, so Lucifer it was. "You okay?"

He groaned. He was tangled in blankets on the small twin bed, head buried under a pillow. "I'm dying."

Sarah huffed a laugh. "You're not dying."

Lucifer flinched under the sheets, clutching the pillow tighter over his head. "Sssshhhh. Yes, I am, I'm dying."

"You're not." Sarah lowered her voice, conscious of the terrible headache the angel-turned-man must be nursing. "You're just hungover."

A single blue eye glared from the mass of sheets. "Your bedside manner is completely lacking."

"Well I work in publications, so that makes sense," Sarah said dryly. Lucifer groaned and dug deeper into the blankets. Sarah rolled her eyes and fetched him a large glass of water. She poked him in the side and he flinched back.

"Come on, drink this." When Lucifer didn't move, she poked him again. "You're dehydrated. You need water."

Lucifer sat up, staring at her with tired eyes. He looked disbelieving and a little angry, but seemed too exhausted to act on it. "You did this to me on purpose."

"I did not." Sarah pushed the glass of water into his hand. He drank it, still casting her wary looks out of the corner of his eye. After downing half the glass, he paused.

"Okay, you didn't. But you  _are_  enjoying it."

"I am a bit, yes," Sarah admitted honestly. Lucifer faced the wall, ignoring her as he finished the water. Sarah shook her head as he set the glass on the nightstand and burrowed back into the blankets.

Fifteen minutes later, she returned with a breakfast sandwich. "Sit up. This'll help."

"Why should I trust you," Lucifer grunted into the pillow.

Sarah considered it for a moment. "Because taking care of you is literally my only job right now? And probably more importantly, if you eat I'll give you some medicine for your head."

Lucifer rolled over to look at the plate in Sarah's hand, wrinkling his nose and grimacing. "I'm not eating anything ever again."

"Come on," Sarah sat on the edge of the bed. Lucifer edged away from her as if she was dangling a spider at him instead of an egg and bacon sandwich. "It's got everything you need to feel better. Bread to soak up any excess alcohol, some fat and protein to get your back on your feet, and some cheese, because… well, cheese."

Lucifer still eyed her skeptically. "I'll sit right here while you eat. If it makes you sick, you can vomit on me," Sarah bargained.

Lucifer reluctantly accepted the plate. The first bite seemed to nearly pain him, but once he swallowed it and realized the food wasn't about to come back up, he wolfed it down in under a minute. He looked much less pale already, and seemed less angry and pained when Sarah took the plate back. He didn't thank her, but she wasn't expecting a thank you. She counted it as a success anyway.

Over the next week Sarah and Lucifer settled into an odd, routine sort of peace. Lucifer would still goad her and mock her, of course, but the malice that hovered at the edge of his expression so often seemed to lessen over time. Sarah walked the paths she'd memorized in childhood, pointing out the flora and fauna they passed to Lucifer. He was forced to come along due to their involuntary connection, but he seemed more at peace outside than inside the cabin. He never complained about the hikes, so Sarah guessed he enjoyed them.

When it rained, they stayed indoors, reading books or watching movies. On the second day in the cabin Lucifer had located an old family Bible. At first he had just read it, scoffing and making sarcastic remarks about how much 'you humans' had got it wrong, but after a day of that he'd found a red pen and had actually taken to editing it, crossing things out and scribbling in the margins. Occasionally he would remark aloud, irritated, about a particular story that had been completely fabricated or misinterpreted.

Despite herself, Sarah couldn't help but feel a rather strong sense of curiosity about what the finished result would look like. She hoped she'd be able to read it when he finished. Maybe she could work through his notes and publish a special edition—like the Jefferson Bible, except written by the devil...though maybe she wouldn't put that on the cover.

* * *

The air was cool and damp, but sun trickled through the leaves, warming them and making the stones in the bottom of the small babbling creek look like jewels. The path to get here from the cabin was a long one, so Sarah had packed a lunch for the both of them. They'd sat on large rocks, slick with mist from the creek, and ate turkey sandwiches and apple slices in a peaceful quiet.

Lucifer rarely talked on these nature walks. When they'd first started, Sarah had found the silence tense. She'd tried awkwardly to fill it, pointing to various trees and plants and birds and telling him their names. He'd paid little attention. After some time, Sarah decided that his silence must signal some sort of contentment. After all, he was never quiet when he had a complaint about something.

So used to silence, Sarah actually jumped a little when Lucifer spoke.

"I'm curious," he began. He was watching her closely, speculative but not malicious. Sarah nodded for him to continue. "What do you live for?"

Sarah furrowed her brow. "What, like what's my purpose?"

"No." Lucifer's voice was calm and precise, like Sarah was an animal he wanted to investigate, but not spook. "What do you live for?" He paused, then proceeded, cautiously, "Your husband is dead. Your child is dead, your  _dog_  is dead. Your life was in ruins even before you met me, and every day is pain." Sarah did indeed feel a stab of loss at his words, but it was less sharp because he spoke in a tone of genuine puzzlement. "So why do you try? What do you live for?"

Sarah sighed through her nose, looking away from Lucifer and fixing her eyes on the water as she thought about what to say. "This, I guess."

"This," he repeated, voice dry. "You guess."

Sarah shrugged, glancing over at his scowl before fixing her eyes on the water. "When I was a teenager, I wasn't sure if God existed." From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Lucifer shift at the apparent change in subject. Or maybe the mention of his father. "I wondered how he could create something so beautiful and then let such horrible things happen. War, famine, disease… even in nature, there are some truly gruesome things." Sarah paused, listening to the calm trickling of the water. "But eventually I decided that he must exist. Because I would look at a place like this, or the Grand Canyon, or the ocean, or I'd see a magnificent sunrise, and I would feel this overwhelming sense of peace and wonder and joy. And what could that feeling be, if not a sign of God?"

Sarah shrugged and glanced at Lucifer. HIs eyes were dark and his brow was furrowed, but he didn't say anything, so Sarah continued. "Now I know it's not. But I think maybe that's better, because it doesn't matter that he's gone. Because that feeling came from inside me the whole time. That peace and happiness and reverence, it's my own appreciation of nature. Of beauty. The peace I feel here is mine. The love I felt for my family was mine."

Sarah shuddered a breath and blinked to hold back tears, because she didn't want to cry right now. She wanted to explain this, because it felt a little good to say it aloud. "Losing Isaac, losing…" Sarah's voice failed her for a moment, but she forced herself to croak the words out. "...our baby…  _hurt_. It still hurts. It's like the ache of a missing limb, and I don't know if it'll ever go away. But I still remember what that love felt like, what that happiness felt like. Being here, I can find a shadow of that contentment, and it gives me hope that I might feel something like that again."

Sarah turned to gage Lucifer's reaction. He looked thoughtful, but unconvinced. Sarah shrugged. She didn't much care if he believed her. She'd spoken the truth, as far as she knew it.

"I always said nature was Dad's last perfect creation." Lucifer had closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the sunlight filtering in through the leaves. The light seemed to illuminate him from within, highlighting golden strands in his hair, and Sarah for the first time wondered what Lucifer looked like as an angel. "If he had asked me to love it before him, instead of humanity, I might have been able to."

Sarah scoffed, shaking her head. Lucifer opened his eyes, looking irritated. "What?"

"Nothing, just…" Sarah busied herself packing up the trash from their lunch into her bag. "Not sure you really know what love is."

Lucifer was standing and in Sarah's personal space in seconds. His eyes burned like hot coals, and Sarah took a step back, for a moment genuinely worried that he would hit her. "I know love," he said, fierce and dangerously quiet. "More than a speck of dust like you ever could. I  _fell_  for it,  _burned_  for it. Don't you ever suggest I don't know what it is."

"Do you, though?" Sarah wondered briefly if it was worth arguing about. But Lucifer had yet to actually try to physically harm her, so she pushed on. "Are you sure you fell because of love? Or was it jealousy? Or anger?"

"I loved my father!" Lucifer's voice had risen to a shout, and it echoed for a moment in the trees before he continued in a harsh, low voice, "I loved my family. And if Dad had loved  _us_ , he would never have told us to put flawed abortions like you before him."

"You don't know." Sarah swallowed at the anger and violence in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, but still she shook her head. "Love isn't about perfection. Admiring something beautiful and virtuous and perfect is easy. That's not love, it's... grade school infatuation. Love is affection for the imperfect. It's not something given in spite of flaws. It's because of them. And you don't know what it is."

Lucifer was nearly shaking with rage and hurt and betrayal, and Sarah couldn't stand to look at him anymore. Not in this place, which was so peaceful before. She turned away and started walking back to the cabin. Lucifer was quiet all the way back.

The cabin was tense for the rest of the day and evening. Sarah went to bed early, hoping a good night's rest would put the simmering anger and tension behind them. She probably should have expected the bad dreams. Except it wasn't a bad dream. Not really. It was a good dream, a wonderful dream. It was precisely what Sarah wanted most in the world.

She dreamed she woke to an infant's cries. For a moment she was confused, disoriented. And then Isaac chuckled in her ear.

"Go back to sleep," he'd whispered quietly, pressing a warm kiss to her cheek. "I'll take care of her." But Sarah didn't go back to sleep. Isaac pulled on his robe and walked down the hallway to the nursery. Sarah trailed behind him like a ghost. She hovered in the doorway as Isaac reached down into the crib and picked up a crying, red-faced infant. The child had Isaac's dark hair, but she could see the very beginnings of curls on the soft head. Her curls.

Isaac rocked their child back and forth, humming tunelessly and seemingly unaffected by lack of sleep. Catching sight of her in the doorway, Isaac smiled at her. Sarah felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She stepped into the nursery, approaching him, and his smile grew. Sarah reached out—

And grasped air. She blinked rapidly. Her hand was still outstretched, but she was laying down. She was still in bed, in the cabin in Oregon. Because Isaac and the baby were dead. Because all of that was just a dream.

Sarah curled back into the blankets, clutching her heart like she'd been stabbed. She muffled her sobs in a pillow, soaking the cover as she tried to keep her pain quiet.

She didn't know how long she cried. Usually she just sobbed until she ran out of tears and exhausted herself. But not this time. Loud, angry, purposeful footsteps stomped up to her door. It flew open with force.

"Oh my—would you stop crying?!"

Sarah froze, surprise halting her tears. She thought she'd been quiet, but Lucifer must have heard her. She sat up in bed, and stared.

Lucifer's breathing was ragged. He looked angry, livid, even—but only on the surface. Beneath the anger he looked devastated. Grief-stricken. His shoulders were shaking. But what had Sarah staring was the wetness of his face. And, as she watched, another tear fell down his cheek, at precisely the same time as hers.

Lucifer swiped at it angrily, shooting her an accusing look. Like the tear was her fault.

"Stop it!" He hissed. "Stop grieving!"

Sarah wiped at the tear tracks on her face, feeling bone-tired. "I'm sorry my grief is inconvenient for you, but—"

"Inconvenient," Lucifer interrupted bitterly. "I've tried to give you  _time_ , but you're not getting better. You need to  _get over it!_ "

Sarah laughed in bitter disbelief. "Yeah, I'll get right on that."

Lucifer crossed the room rapidly, seizing Sarah tightly by the shoulders and pressing her back against the headboard, eyes red and nearly panicked. "You  _have_  to stop." His words were half demand, half plea, and Sarah's brow furrowed.

"I can't just stop grieving." The anger Sarah felt at his demands and manhandling was draining out of her to make room for confusion.

"Why not?" Lucifer looked physically pained. Sarah's brow furrowed.

"Because… that's not how grief works?" Sarah asked, unsure. "It's not like I'm being sad on purpose. Look, I'm sorry if I woke you, but—"

"Woke me," Lucifer repeated, voice hollow and disbelieving. "No, you  _idiot_. You hurt, I hurt.  _Remember?_ " Lucifer shook her a little, still gripping her shoulders. At this point the action seemed less violent and more like a drowning man clutching at a raft.

Sarah stared at the tear tracks on Lucifer's face. "But I thought—" Sarah had assumed that meant only physical pain. She had seen Lucifer get hurt when she did—the inkless tattoo wound on his hip which mirrored Sarah's own anti-possession tattoo was evidence of that. But she had never guessed that Lucifer felt her emotional pain, too.

Sarah breathed out in realization as she replayed their time together in her mind. Lucifer had been significantly more insensitive when they first met. He'd deliberately dug into the open wound of her grief, seeming to take pleasure in her pain that first night—but  _only_  that first night. While he'd still liked to tease her and taunt her, his jibes were directed at her, or her habits. Looking back now, Lucifer had been oddly careful not to mention Isaac or the loss of the baby. Yesterday's conversation in the woods was the closest he'd come to mentioning them in weeks, and even then he was cautious. Wary.

Lucifer seemed to see the understanding dawn on Sarah's face. He unwound his hands from Sarah's shoulders, fisting his hands in his lap, but he didn't pull away. "You have to stop," he repeated. "It  _hurts._ "

"I know," Sarah said quietly, truly sympathetic. She swallowed. "But I can't. I'm sorry."

Lucifer's wounded look hardened into anger again. Quick as a snake striking, he wound his hands around Sarah's throat and squeezed, warningly. His eyes glittered darkly, but he looked resolute. "Then I'll kill you."

Sarah swallowed heavily, heart beating rapidly in her chest. "You'll die, too," she reminded him nervously.

"Good," he said fiercely. "I'm going to die like this, anyway. Why draw it out? Why feel this awful pain every day for the rest of my pitiful human life? No. I kill you, and the pain stops." He paused for a moment, eyes shining as he looked away from his hands around Sarah's throat to meet her eyes. "For both of us."

"Lucifer." Sarah met his eyes as calmly as she could, though her pulse was still pounding beneath his hands. "I don't think either of us really wants to die."

Lucifer's fingers twitched against her neck. "Of course I don't." He seemed unable to look her in the eyes any longer, and instead looked back to his hands. "But I don't want to live, either. Not like this. Stuck in this cabin, stuck with you and your pain, stuck as the thing I hate most in the world."

Morning light drifted in from the window, illuminating the blond in Lucifer's hair like it had yesterday, and making his eyes seem bluer. The sight of it, or the defeat in his tone, or his hands on her throat, or some combination of it all jogged her memory.

"Maybe you're not." Lucifer seemed jolted out of his murderous-slash-suicidal mood by the hope in Sarah's voice, and he raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Stop trying to strangle me, I have an idea."

Lucifer gave her a long, considering look, but eventually sighed and removed his hands from her throat. Sarah rubbed it lightly, but it wasn't bruised at all—just a little warm from the heat of his hands. "What is your brilliant idea?"

Sarah slid out of the covers, yanking a robe over her thin pajamas and toeing on her slippers before padding out to the kitchen and looking around. She started opening drawers and cabinets, rummaging around with excited energy. "You remember when we got drunk and watched Mary Poppins?"

"Hard to forget," Lucifer said slowly, leaning in the doorway and watching her curiously.

"And you asked me what God had said to me, and I mentioned something about Thor," Sarah said, giving up on the kitchen and wandering through the main room. "And you thought I was talking about the pagan god." Sarah paused for a moment in her search. "Wait a second, are the pagan gods  _real_?"

Lucifer folded his arms, looking unamused. Sarah shook her head, deciding to get answers later, and looked around desperately. "Aha!" She rushed to the row of VHS tapes on the shelf, plucking up a DVD case that had been lying on top of the cassettes. "Anyway, God wasn't talking about the god, he was talking about the  _movie_."

"Dad barely had time to dump me on you before he left, and he took the time to talk to you about movies?" Lucifer asked skeptically.

"No, he just mentioned it in passing, but I think I have an idea about why," Sarah said, staring at the DVD case like it held the answers to the universe. "Sit down, we're watching this."

Lucifer looked at her like she was crazy as he reluctantly sat on the couch. Sarah popped the movie into the DVD player on top of the old television and started it, getting up only to procure a few cups of coffee and some Pop Tarts for the both of them.

Lucifer watched the movie, and Sarah watched Lucifer watch the movie. Like Mary Poppins, there were times during the story when his eyes went dark, but unlike Mary Poppins, Sarah this time had a better idea of where his mind was going. When Thor was cast out from Asgard to Earth, Lucifer's hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. When Thor sacrificed himself in battle and his powers were returned to him, Lucifer's glare softened. His eyes were far away for the rest of the movie.

"So?" Sarah asked hopefully as she put away the DVD.

Lucifer frowned. "Suppose it's too much to hope that nearly dying is the key."

Sarah shook her head. "No, I think it's definitely more the 'worthy of the powers' bit."

Lucifer raked a hand through his hair in frustration, sighing heavily. "And how am I supposed to do that?"

"If I had to guess?" Sarah shrugged. "Probably cooling it on the whole, 'kill the flawed abortions' thing."

Lucifer slumped back into the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes. "I'm going to die like this." And though he said it in a tone of defeat, he seemed less desolate than he had when he was attempting to strangle Sarah a few hours earlier. She suspected that this time, he didn't fully believe his own words.

The days following saw a return to the tentative peace of the previous weeks. Lucifer was careful that his snide, mocking remarks didn't touch on any sensitive subjects for Sarah, and Sarah did her best not to let herself completely succumb to debilitating grief. In a way Lucifer's mocking remarks actually helped, because they revealed a sort of sharp sense of humor that almost made him seem human.

Their only other human interaction was their infrequent visits to town to restock their supplies. Because of their connection Sarah couldn't leave Lucifer behind at the cabin on these trips or leave him waiting in the car while she shopped, but over time Lucifer shot fewer and fewer murderous glances at salespeople and fellow shoppers. So, progress.

They never had any visitors at the cabin. The place was deep in the woods. The nearest cabin to theirs was probably at least a mile away, and not many campers or hikers were in the area now, as fall creeped into winter and the weather got colder and damper.

This was why, when Sarah heard the crunch of tires on the dirt road approaching the cabin one morning while Lucifer was in the shower, Sarah's heart picked up in panic.

She'd gotten so comfortable in her routine that she'd never even asked Lucifer what they should do if demons found them. There was no time to ask him now, the car was too close. Sarah quickly rushed about the main room, turning off all the lights and trying to keep away from the windows. Her car was out front, but maybe if all the lights were off and the door was locked, they'd think she'd gone out. If nothing else, it would take them a few minutes to get through the door, and then they'd be trapped in the Devil's trap just inside the door.

The sound of the shower cut off at the same time as the sound of the car's engine. Sarah cursed as the door slammed, creeping down the hallway as quickly as she could. She tapped the door to the bathroom, quietly and insistently, until Lucifer opened it. His hair was damp and ruffled. He wore only a towel, and he curiously eyed her panicked look. Before he could open his mouth, Sarah shushed him.

"A car just pulled up," she whispered quietly.

Lucifer's face went serious immediately. "How many?"

Sarah shook her head. "One car, I don't know how many inside. I didn't get a look, I was trying to avoid the windows."

Lucifer cursed, stepping away from the crack in the door. Sarah heard the rustling of clothing, which would have probably been awkward for her if she weren't preoccupied with the idea that demons were about to break into her cabin.

A knocking sounded on the door. Sarah shifted uncertainly. "Do demons knock?" She whispered.

"If they want to lull you into a false sense of security, then yes," Lucifer said, nudging the door open quietly, still damp but now fully dressed. He edged towards the end of the hallway, peering around the corner tentatively. Sarah followed, not sure what else to do with herself.

The knocking grew more insistent. Lucifer looked back at her consideringly. "Go pack everything we need."

Sarah hesitated. "What about you?"

"I'm going to the kitchen for salt." At Sarah's lost look, he explained shortly, "It burns demons. Should give us time to get out. Now go."

Sarah wanted to protest, to ask more questions, but there wasn't time. She darted down the hall, shoving her essentials into her bag before darting into Lucifer's room to do the same. Behind her, the knocking became a banging. A man shouted, "Open up, police!"

Sarah crept down the hall with the bags over her shoulder. She peeked around the corner, eyeing the door warily. The pounding knocks were making the door vibrate. Lucifer crept out of the kitchen in a crouch to meet her, three large canisters of salt in his arms. He looked wary, and almost resigned. It wasn't a look that inspired confidence.

"We can't go out that way," Sarah whispered nervously. "Not without crossing through the trap. The window in my room is big enough to climb out of—"

"The trap won't hold them." Lucifer interrupted, pushing her down the hallway towards her bedroom. "We'll have to be quick."

Sarah's stomach lurched in panic. "But your sigils—" There was a loud crash. The door had given in, and two loud sets of boots tromped through the house.

"Are useless. Those aren't demons." Lucifer shoved her into the bedroom and turned the lock behind them. He pushed the canisters of salt into her arms to fiddle with the latch on the window. "They're humans. My true vessel and his brother. The ones who want to kill me, remember?"

"Lucifer!" One of the men shouted. "We know you're here! Show yourself!"

Sarah cursed. Lucifer forced the window open. The doorknob rattled for a moment, followed by a shout of, "Dean!"

Sarah shoved Lucifer through the window. He landed on the ground with a thump, and Sarah shoved their bags out after him as one of the men threw his body against the door resulting in a sound that rang like thunder in the small room. The door would give on the next strike. There was no time.

Making a split-second decision, Sarah slid the window shut and picked up a canister of salt, holding it in front of herself defensively. The door burst open, and Sarah didn't have to fake the startled scream that escaped her as two men barreled into the room. The shorter one leveled a gun at her heart, and the taller one held what appeared to be a gleaming silver short sword. They both looked murderous.

"Oh my God!" Sarah blurted it out of habit, though she dearly hoped he was listening and wouldn't actually let these men kill her. A bit belatedly, she held up the salt with shaky hands. "Stay back."

The taller man's brows drew together in confusion and he lowered the sword a bit. "Who are you?"

The other man was apparently unaffected by the sight of a terrified woman brandishing salt at him. His gun didn't waver. "Where's Lucifer?"

Sarah tried to channel the disbelief she'd felt at learning that Lucifer even existed, letting her eyes dart from gun to sword nervously. "Who?"

The shorter man clicked the safety off his gun. Panicking, Sarah jerked her arms, showering both men with salt. The shorter one didn't react. The taller one blinked in surprise, lowering his sword the rest of the way. When he spoke, his voice was calm, placating. "Hey, hey. We're not demons."

"I'd feel a lot better about that if you didn't just break into my cabin and wave weapons in my face," Sarah said, voice cracking a bit.

"Where is he?" The shorter one demanded.

"I don't know who you're talking about!" Sarah insisted, not having to fake the tears gathering at the corner of her eyes.

The taller one put a hand on the other man's shoulder. The shorter man shot an impatient look at his brother. He reluctantly clicked the safety of his gun back on, though he didn't lower it. The taller one stowed his gun, raising his hands in a show of peace.

"Look," he said slowly. "We know there's someone else here." Before Sarah could deny it, he continued, "There's mens' boots by the doorway. Two coffee cups in the sink. Shower's been used recently, but your hair's dry."

Sarah willed herself not to panic and come up with some explanation for those things aside from 'I'm harboring the devil'. "Look, I don't know who you're looking for, but the only people here are me and my husband."

"Bullshit," the shorter one growled. Sarah flinched.

The taller one lowered his hands, still talking softly. "Look, I'm sorry we scared you, but we're here to help. I know you're scared, but you've gotta tell us where Lucifer is."

Sarah looked between the two, trying to think of a way to stall, to get out of this. While she thought she continued to lie her face off. "I don't know who you're talking about. Those boots are my husband's, his name is Isaac,  _please_ , please don't hurt him!"

The shorter man clicked the safety off again. "Tell us where he is or I'll shoot."

"Dean!" The taller man scolded, pushing down the man's arm.

All three of them froze as the window slid open, staring as Lucifer clambered back in with a sigh. "Yeah, they're not buying it." Lucifer pat her on the shoulder. "Good effort, though."

Lucifer's words seemed to snap Dean and the other man out of their shock, and in the next moment they both levelled their weapons at Lucifer. In sheer panic, Sarah stepped in front of him—though given their height difference it wouldn't have stopped Dean from making a fatal shot.

"Move, lady," Dean grunted. The taller one shot her a pitying look.

"Look, this isn't your husband—"

Sarah couldn't help it. Maybe it was the tension of the situation getting to her, but she laughed. At first it was just a short, disbelieving bark, but then the looks of surprise on the weapon-toting men's faces spurred her into more laughter, and she couldn't stop.

"Really?" Lucifer asked dryly from behind her as she laughed, and that only made her laugh harder, but she forced herself to stop after a moment, clearing her throat.

"Uh, sorry." She wasn't sure if she was apologizing to Lucifer or the men with weapons in her face. "I'm perfectly aware he's not my husband, thanks."

"So you lied for him," Dean ground out, then continued, disbelieving, "You're defending him on purpose?  _Lucifer?_ The devil."

With Lucifer at her back, Sarah could actually feel how he tensed at the term, and she frowned. "Yes, I am."

"Why?" The tall one asked, looking flabbergasted.

"Probably a witch," Dean grunted dismissively.

"Witches are real?" Sarah asked, eyebrows raising and glancing at Lucifer over her shoulder. He gave her an impatient look, reminding her that now was not exactly the time for such questions, and she turned to face the weapons again. "Okaaay… one, hurtful, and two, no. Not a witch."

"Why then?" The tall one asked.

"Does it matter?" Dean demanded. "She's on his side, I say we stab 'em both."

"God told me to!" Sarah said quickly, hoping that wouldn't sound as crazy to them as it still sounded to her. The tall one lowered the sword again, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. Even Dean, apparently the more trigger-happy of the two, hesitated at that.

"You know Chuck?" Dean asked skeptically.

"Yes!" Sarah sighed in relief. "Dark hair, scruffy beard, about my height? Also is God?"

"That's him," Dean acknowledged.

"He asked me to take care of him," Sarah said, directing her words towards the tall one, who seemed to be generally more reasonable. "I can't let you kill him."

"Well we can't exactly let him run around being the devil, either," Dean countered. "So unless he wants to volunteer to jump back in the box—" Sarah didn't know what that meant, but she felt Lucifer flinch behind her. "—then we'll just have to apologize to Chuck next time we see him. Which for all we know, is never." He directed this last part at his brother, seeming to sense he'd object.

"You really think killing Lucifer is a good idea when Chuck went out of his way to protect him?" He sounded skeptical, but he was clearly considering it.

"Sammy's got a point, Dean," Lucifer goaded. Sarah drove her elbow into his ribcage, and he 'oof'ed softly, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated scowl.

"You shut up," Dean barked. "I say we do it anyway. If Chuck's so worked up about it, he can bring him back himself."

Still, 'Sammy's brow furrowed. "And hey—since when does Lucifer need someone to 'take care of him', anyway?"

"Come on, Sam," Lucifer snarked. "Don't you think, if I had the power to do it, you and your brother would already be red smears on the wall?"

Sarah stood on his foot. "Not helping!" She scolded.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. "So Chuck took your mojo."

"You're human," Sam realized aloud. He tilted his head, fixing Sarah with a peculiar look she couldn't interpret.

Dean shook his head dismissively. "Doesn't matter." He fixed cold green eyes on Lucifer. "Doesn't change what he's done. Just makes him easier to kill."

Sarah swallowed and decided to gamble. "Then you'll have to kill me, too." Behind her, Lucifer stiffened. She leaned back against him a little, just for a moment, trying to silently convey that she had a plan.

"Look, I feel for you, lady," Dean said, not sounding like he 'felt' for her at all. "Chuck stuck you with him, and I do know that extended time in Lucifer's company will  _literally_ drive you insane. But we can't risk him getting his mojo back. He needs to die. So you can either step out of the way, or you can get stabbed, too."

"I'll get stabbed either way," Sarah lied fervently. "God—Chuck—he didn't just bind Lucifer's powers. He bound  _us_  together. If one of us gets hurt, or dies, so does the other. If you kill him, you'll kill me, too."

"Bull," Dean said flatly.

"Test it," Sarah said immediately, holding out her left hand, palm up. "Cut me. You'll see."

The brothers glanced at each other, seeming to have a silent conversation. Sam cautiously brought the sword closer. To Lucifer, he said quietly, "Show us your hand."

Lucifer obediently held it out, pressing against Sarah's back as he lined up his own palm next to hers. Sam made a shallow cut on Sarah's palm. She hissed as blood welled up in her palm, and in Lucifer's next to hers.

"Story checks out," Sam said, glancing back to Dean, who watched the process with a furrowed brow.

"It could be a trick," Dean said, scowling. Sarah tried not to let her panic show on her face. Luckily the brothers were paying attention to each other, and not her reactions.

"Cas would know," Sam suggested.

Dean shot his brother a short glare. "You can't possibly believe all of this crap."

Sam shook his head. "I don't believe it, Dean, but I don't  _not_  believe it, either. I mean, he's right—if he had his powers, would we even be alive right now? I'm just saying we should let Cas check it out before we make any hasty decisions."

Dean's jaw worked silently for a moment. "Fine. Go scratch out the sigils and bring him in." Dean kept his gun trained on Sarah and Lucifer while Sam left. A few minutes later Sam returned, followed by a man with dark hair in a trenchcoat.

"Dean," he acknowledged with a nod as he entered the room. "Lucifer." He frowned at Lucifer, and at Sarah, eyes narrowing slightly at them.

"Sarah," she supplied when he didn't speak for a long moment.

"I am Castiel," he returned absently, still staring, though it seemed to be less  _at_  her than  _through_  her. "Sam explained your claims to me on the way in." He blinked and turned to Sam and Dean. "It is no trick. Lucifer's powers are… bound. There is a bond between them, but I cannot speak to its nature. I've never seen anything like it."

"Can you break it?" Dean asked impatiently.

Castiel turned a narrow-eyed gaze back towards Sarah and Lucifer. "No. This is God's work. I'm not capable of undoing it."

Dean cursed. He glared at Lucifer, but reluctantly clicked the safety back on his gun and tucked it away. Sarah sagged in relief.

"What the hell do we do now, then?" Dean demanded.

Castiel blinked, brows drawing together in confusion. "They've been living in peaceful solitude for nearly two months now. If that is truly God's will, I see no reason why we should disrupt it."

"What, just leave them here?" Dean asked, disbelieving. "What if they leave? What if Lucifer gets his mojo back?"

"Now that I have met her, I can find Sarah no matter where she goes," Castiel reasoned. Sarah jumped a little at that assertion, shooting Lucifer a curious look. He mouthed 'angel' at her, and Sarah's eyes grew wide, staring at the otherwise ordinary-looking man in the trench coat. "And if Lucifer does get his grace back, I doubt finding him will be our greatest worry."

It took another ten minutes of reassurances on Sarah and Castiel's part, with no help at all from Lucifer, to reassure the brothers that yes, they would be fine here, no, Lucifer wasn't about to go on a murder spree, and no, they did not need to bring Sarah and Lucifer back to 'the bunker,' whatever that was.

Sarah thought, in the end, that it wasn't Sarah and Castiel's words that persuaded them, but their own dislike for Lucifer. Dean had still had a stubborn set to his jaw until Sam had bent down and said quietly into his brother's ear, "Do you  _really_  want to bring Lucifer home with us?" And the answer to that was clearly 'no,' so Sarah and Lucifer were allowed to stay.

Dean made some threats about what would happen if Lucifer stepped a toe out of line. Castiel said gravely that he would be watching, and Sarah had a sneaking suspicion he meant that in a literal sense. Before the horde of intruders left, though, Sam pulled Sarah into the kitchen to talk privately.

He looked too big in the cabin, Sarah thought, but he didn't seem as threatening now that he was giving her big puppy-dog eyes instead of waving a sword around.

"Hey," Sam shot a suspicious look over his shoulder to make sure they were out of earshot, she assumed of Lucifer. "Are you… okay?"

Sarah considered it for a moment. "Not really. But that predated the babysitting gig, so it's nothing to worry about."

Sam did not look reassured. "Look, if he's hurt you—"

"He really hasn't," Sarah said flatly, frowning. "And I can tell by the look on your face that you're not going to believe me, but it's the truth. Frankly, you and your brother have managed to traumatize me more in an hour than he has in nearly two months, so you can stop looking at me like I'm a battered wife or suffering from Stockholm syndrome."

Sam had the grace to look a little shamed by that, but chose not to acknowledge it, drawing out a pad of paper and pen and scribbling a long list of numbers on it. "Here are our numbers. If anything happens, if you need us, just… give us a call. Okay?"

Sarah accepted the paper and tacked it onto the fridge with an alphabet magnet. "If I ever want to be threatened again or need any doors knocked off their hinges, you're the first man I'll call."

Sam shot her a bitchy look at her lack of gratefulness and huffed his way out of the kitchen. Sarah followed him out with a roll of her eyes, finding Dean and Castiel watching curiously. Lucifer smirked, but said nothing.

Sarah strode to the broken door, pretending to hold it open for them with a bright smile. "Alright boys, thank you for not killing us. Please get out of my cabin."

"You are welcome," Castiel said, apparently not catching her sarcasm, before the other two ushered him out, shaking their heads. Sarah just barely caught Dean muttering something about 'deserving each other' before the got back in their ridiculous car and drove away.

When they were finally out of sight, Sarah sighed, leaning against the doorway. She was exhausted from the ordeal, but they would have to go into town. The door had been completely knocked off its hinges, and the wood was broken. She'd need to replace it before night fell if she didn't want to sleep in a cold, raccoon-infested cabin.

"Sarah." Sarah looked up to find Lucifer standing at her elbow, peering at her like she was a particularly difficult math problem he just couldn't work out. "You lied. To protect me."

Sarah didn't understand why that warranted to look he was giving her. "That  _is_  kind of my only job right now."

Lucifer's eyes narrowed. "So you did it because Dad told you to." He glanced away. "And here I thought you didn't like being told what to do."

"What?" It took Sarah a moment to understand the underlying question that motivated Lucifer's words. "I didn't do it for  _God_. I did it for  _you_."

Lucifer's eyes snapped back to her, that curious, oddly hungry expression returning. "But why? I have no power over you. I have nothing to offer you." He loomed a little closer, like he could intimidate the truth out of her somehow. "My death wouldn't even affect you. You could have let them kill me and gone back to what's left of your life. Dad probably wouldn't even notice."

Sarah stared at him, brow furrowed. "Of course your death would affect me."

Lucifer looked at her like she was dull. "The connection—"

"Not the  _connection_ , idiot," Sarah snapped. "As troublesome and obnoxious as you are, I actually don't want you to die." Lucifer still looked confused. Sarah sighed, tangling her fingers in her curls as she contemplated how to explain it. "You're kind of... my only friend right now."

"Friend," Lucifer repeated dryly. Sarah tried not to flinch at the tone, crossing her arms defensively.

"Yes,  _friend_. We've been stuck together for weeks. For the most part you've not been a colossal asshole, we get along okay, and when your sharp tongue is directed at something other than me, you're actually kind of funny. I consider you my friend."

Lucifer watched her face closely. Softly, he said, as if in protest, "I'm the devil."

Sarah frowned. She was pretty sure he didn't like being called that, and she had never once heard him refer to himself that way. "So?" She asked finally.

Lucifer blinked, and his face relaxed. He stepped away from Sarah's personal space, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "So," he echoed, glancing away. "New door?"

"New door."


	3. Chapter 3

There was an odd tension in the cabin in the days following. Though Lucifer didn't change the way he interacted with Sarah, every once in awhile she'd catch him giving her an odd look from the corner of her eye—something between curiosity and disgust. But he never said anything about it, and when he saw her watching he'd quickly look away with a shake of his head, so she didn't call him out on it. She guessed it had to do with her outpouring of weak human emotions, or something, but that he was refraining from telling her how much it disgusted him in case his rejection of her friendship provoked some bout of grief.

When Sarah woke a week later from bittersweet dreams to the ache of grief, she managed to stop herself before she could surrender completely to her own misery. She spent a good few minutes curled in bed, breathing deep, calming breaths before sliding from bed and padding down the dark hallway to the kitchen. She put a kettle on for tea, less because she wanted it than because it was still the middle of the night and she needed something to do to distract herself.

Eyes bleary and wondering how much milk and honey was acceptable to put into a single cup of tea, Sarah jumped when a loud sigh sounded behind her.

Lucifer looked tired, but not irritated, which Sarah cautiously interpreted as a good sign. "Sorry if I woke you." Sarah felt a little absurd apologizing. Dealing with grief was trying enough without wondering if her emotional turmoil was inconveniencing someone else. "Uh. Tea?"

Lucifer raised an eyebrow at the cup in her hands. " _Is_  there any tea in that cup?"

Sarah glanced down. It  _was_  mostly milk and honey. "Shut up."

Lucifer brushed by her to pull down another mug, standing close as he poured still-hot water from the kettle and added a tea bag. Sarah edged away a little, wondering if a lack of understanding of appropriate personal space was an angel thing or just a Lucifer thing.

"If I ask you a question, do you promise not to start crying?" Lucifer asked, shooting her a measuring look while his tea steeped. He seemed to have asked in good humor, though, and not mockery, so Sarah shrugged and nodded. "What made him so special?"

Suddenly Sarah felt much more awake. She sipped her sweet, milky tea as she sorted through the emotions that question triggered. "You mean Isaac."

"Yes." Lucifer was looking at her with genuine curiosity. Sarah got the feeling he was being intentionally non-threatening, a level of effort that surprised her.

"He was… kind." Sarah said at last. "Truly kind, not just polite. Most people, when they ask how you are, they're just being polite. But he always meant it. He remembered the little details of people's lives, and he cared." Sarah sipped her tea. A part of her felt a deep sense of peace, to be talking about him alive, instead of his death. "He was thoughtful. Passionate about the things he was interested in."

Lucifer frowned into his tea. "But imperfect."

Sarah laughed. "Oh yeah." Lucifer raised his eyebrows at the reaction, and Sarah grinned. "Complete scatterbrain. He'd remember the topic a coworker's cousin's friend's dissertation, but forget our anniversary. Start a load of laundry and forget it in the washer until it started to smell. He'd start doing one thing and get distracted, he left his things all over the place. He couldn't spell for the life of him, and he was almost completely out of touch with his own emotions."

Lucifer looked lost. "And you loved him?"

Sarah tilted her head to the side, assessing him. "Do you really not understand how I could? Are angels so different?" Lucifer looked away, face growing dark. Sarah decided not to press. "Yes. I loved him."

It rained heavily all through the next day, a cold rain that smelled like winter. Sarah lit a fire in the fireplace early in the morning and kept it lit through the day, alternating between reading and sipping coffee or cocoa, savoring the luxury of being so warm on a day so cold. Lucifer spent much of the day with his bible, muttering and scribbling in the margins.

Sarah looked up from a dog-eared novel when Lucifer scoffed loudly. "Oh,  _did not_!" Sarah guessed he'd reached a portion that had him in it. Which was… extremely odd to think about, still.

"Hey, Lucifer?" He glanced at her, scowl melting a little. "Would you let me read that? When you're done?"

Lucifer grinned a crooked grin. It transformed his face in a way his mocking smiles didn't. "You want to?"

"Of course I want to," Sarah said immediately. "You  _literally_  know how it actually happened. And it'll be refreshing to read it and get a more…" Sarah searched for the right word for a moment. "Realistic perspective."

Lucifer's smile reached his eyes, but there was mischief in it. "Go ahead." He tossed her the bible. Sarah dropped her own book hastily and scrambled to catch it. She learned the reason behind the mischief when she cracked it open.

"What language even  _is_  this?" She asked, staring at the bizarre scribbles. The letters were unlike anything she'd ever seen before.

"Enochian." Lucifer stood from the couch, stretching and sighing when his spine gave a few satisfying pops. "Angel language."

"Angels have their own language?" Lucifer seemed amused by the excitement and amazement in her voice. He nodded. "Would you say something in it?"

Lucifer's smile lost some of its humor. "With a human tongue? No. It wouldn't sound right."

Sarah sighed, disappointed, and held the book back out to him. "You might as well keep this, then."

Lucifer accepted it slowly, watching Sarah carefully. With a sigh, he flopped back onto the couch and flipped it open to the first pages. "In the beginning there was a lot more than just Dad…"

Lucifer read a bit every night from then on. Though 'reading' was a loose description. Often the text itself would be abandoned as Lucifer detailed the workings of heaven, told stories about other angels, or answered Sarah's questions about the creation of the world. These were clearly happy memories for Lucifer, but bittersweet, considering what came after. He largely skipped over the subject of his fall, and though Sarah was deeply curious about the details, she refrained from asking about it.

She was amazed and grateful that he even chose to share what he did—and she rather thought he enjoyed it, too. She supposed he wasn't really used to having someone want to listen to him and hear his perspective. Sarah wasn't a demon serving him or an angel opposing him… just a friend.

After a few weeks, Lucifer settled onto one end of the couch, stretching his feet out to encroach on Sarah's space, and cracked open the bible to pick up where he'd left off. He stared at the page for a long moment, then abruptly snapped it shut.

Sarah blinked, puzzled, and set down her glass of wine. "What, no story time?"

Lucifer put his hands vertically against his mouth thoughtfully, as if in prayer. "We've caught up."

"We're finished?" Sarah glanced at the book. There were still some pages left before the end.

Lucifer followed her line of sight with his eyes. "That would be Revelations."

"The Apocalypse stuff?" Sarah paused. "Wait,  _caught up_?"

Lucifer gave her a dry look. "Well, when we last left our hero," he gestured grandly to himself, "he was locked in a box in Hell. How'd you think I got out?"

"I dunno, God?"

That startled a bitter laugh out of Lucifer. "No. No, Sam Winchester, the larger of the two idiots who broke into the cabin, broke me out. Accidentally, but still. Kind of a long story."

Sarah picked up her glass of wine again. "Well? Let's hear it."

Lucifer frowned, all humor leaving his eyes. "I'm not sure I should tell you."

Sarah studied his face, wondering what could be behind his sudden hesitation. "Why not?"

"And here I thought you were smart." The barb was a little flat. Lucifer's shoulders seemed to be drawing up defensively. "Did you never wonder  _why_  those two flannel-wearing barbarians tried to kill me?" At Sarah's blank look, he 'tsk'ed impatiently. "It's not just because I'm the devil. It's personal."

He brought a hand to his lips. Usually Sarah interpreted this as a thoughtful gesture, but this time she thought it might just be a sign of nerves. "I have done… terrible things. I've killed people." He spoke frankly, almost clinically. "Lots of people. Recently. And i don't regret it."

He studied her silently for a moment, trying to gage her reaction to that. Sarah was frozen. "You are stuck with me. Probably for a long time, possibly forever. Do you really want to see all the skeletons in my very large, very old closet?"

Sarah considered it. It was a fair question. She'd seen only a glimpse of Lucifer's attitude towards humanity in general, and he'd told her outright that the only reason she was alive was because he didn't have the power to kill her and come away alive himself. But Lucifer was right: they  _were_  stuck together, possibly forever. Sarah didn't think she could live with him for months or years without knowing the full story. And...

And he was asking her if she wanted to hear it. A question, not a warning. Sarah wanted to hear it, and she suspected he needed to tell it. Sarah gulped a fortifying sip of wine and nodded.

"Let's hear it."

And she did. Lucifer told her about the scheme to bring about the Apocalypse, rising from the pit, slaughtering an entire town… all of it. It was hard to listen to. Lucifer spoke for hours, and Sarah peppered him with questions about why he did one thing or other. At the end of it all, she didn't know what to do, how to react.

Pat him on the arm and say it's okay? That he's forgiven, that they're still friends? None of that was true. Well, she was still his friend. But what he'd done wasn't okay, and she didn't know if he could be forgiven. She didn't know if he even wanted to be.

And if he wasn't sorry, what then? Sarah found it hard to condemn him. Maybe he'd just grown on her over time, but she didn't think that was it. It was just… hard to judge Lucifer. By human standards, what he'd done was unforgivable. But Sarah didn't really think judging him by human standards was fair. He wasn't human, after all.

And while he said he didn't feel regret, Sarah thought he must feel something besides satisfaction over his actions, or he never would have been so hesitant to share it with Sarah in the first place

Maybe if she was a good person, she would reject him, or shame him, or tell him how wrong he was. And maybe Sarah wasn't good. Maybe, somewhere along the line, she, like Lucifer, had broken. But after so many weeks together, the broken pieces felt less jagged and sharp. Sarah couldn't bring herself to push him away. Not when there was nothing to gain, and the rejection would cause both of them so much pain.

Instead, she poured them each a glass of wine, dimmed the lamp, and started a movie. All Dogs Go To Heaven. And if Lucifer's feet wound up in her lap—well, no one was around to judge.

* * *

When the hikers knocked on the door a week later, Sarah exchanged a cautious look with Lucifer. It was nearly Christmas, and it wasn't out of the question that real, actual human beings would be staying in the area. There were only two of them, and they were dressed for a day of winter hiking. They  _could_  be perfectly innocent. But with their luck, they were probably demons.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" The woman called tentatively. "Sorry, we're lost!"

"Pack," Lucifer said decisively, standing and walking towards the kitchen. "I'll take care of it."

Sarah darted into their bedrooms and got their bags together in record time. When she returned to the main room, Lucifer was at the door, frowning skeptically at the two hikers with a canister of salt hidden behind his back. The hikers looked tired, and damp.

"Sorry to disturb you, but we fell in the creek a while back—" The woman shot an accusing glare at the man with her, who laughed sheepishly. "And our map is ruined. Do you think you could give us some directions? And, uh, maybe use your bathroom?"

Lucifer exchanged a look with Sarah, who shrugged. They looked unarmed, and their 'fell in the creek' story made sense. Lucifer exhaled deeply and opened the door, stepping back to let them enter. Both Lucifer and Sarah watched intently as they entered, only relaxing when they walked past the Devil's trap under the rug without trouble.

Sarah gave the woman directions to the bathroom and beckoned the man over to the bookcase as she rummaged around for a map. Lucifer hovered at the end of the hallway, shooting wary glances between the man and down the hallway where the woman had disappeared. "I'm not sure if I have one," she said apologetically. "I have all the trails around here memorized, though—if I can't find one I'll draw one up."

"Thanks so much," the man said sincerely, looking around curiously. "What's with all the symbols?"

Sarah's hand paused on the bookshelf. She glanced back at the man, but he merely seemed curious. She relaxed. "Native American symbols," she lied. "Keeps out bad spirits, bad luck, that sort of thing."

"Huh." The man accepted the explanation with a shrug. After another minute Sarah pulled on old map from between two books with a small cry of triumph.

"Found one!" There was a distant sound of a toilet flushing and the sink running. Sarah brought the map over to the dining table and pulled out a pen. "Okay, you are here." She marked the cabin on the map. "This is probably the creek you fell into. Where are you staying?"

"Oh, we just drove up for the day. Our car's back at…" The man squinted at the map and pointed. "This trailhead."

Sarah handed him the map as the woman emerged from the hallway. "Way back's simple enough from here, then. Maybe take the path that doesn't cross the creek this time."

The man laughed, sounding exhausted. "Yeah, will do."

"Thank you so much!" The woman gushed as she and her companion walked to the front door. "You have  _no idea_  how much you helped us." She opened the door, letting the man pass in front of her and smiling at Sarah and Lucifer. "Oh, one last thing—" Her smile dropped. "Mr. Crowley sends his regards."

Sarah didn't know what that meant, but Lucifer stiffened, eyes darting around the room. Apparently something was wrong, because he cursed and shoved Sarah into the kitchen with such force that she stumbled into a cabinet with a cry. When Sarah turned to demand an explanation, Lucifer's eyes were fixed on the doorway—but he tilted his head purposely in the direction of the cabinet where they kept their horde of salt.

Sarah snapped her mouth shut and crouched down, working her way towards the cabinet as footsteps creaked up the front steps.

"Hello, Lucifer." The man who strolled past the broken devil's trap was well dressed, British, and surveyed the cabin with muted disdain. "My, how far you've fallen. Or should I say, how much farther?"

"Crowley," Lucifer greeted him blandly, but Sarah could see the tension in his posture. He was nervous. This man—demon?—was dangerous. Sarah edged towards the salt, wishing desperately she'd spent more time practicing the chant to exorcise demons. "Wish I could say I was glad to see you, but…" Lucifer shrugged, faux-apologetic.

Crowley didn't smile. "I'd be careful what tone you take with me, you old devil. You see, I hear from Rocky and Bullwinkle that you're powerless, and now I can see for myself that the rumors are true." He looked Lucifer up and down, a slow smile stretching across his face at last. "Although, I suppose it doesn't matter  _how_  you talk anymore. You won't be talking anymore in a few minutes."

Sarah seized the salt canister and crept towards the door to the kitchen, hand shaking and heart pounding.

"Oh really?" Lucifer raised his eyebrows. "If you heard from the Winchesters, then you know that I'm like this because of Dad.  _My_  dad? You know, God? He probably won't take kindly to my being dead when he gets back."

" _If_  he comes back," Crowley said easily, unconcerned. "Who knows, with your old man. That sabbatical of his could last millennia. Or forever. Either way, it's a risk I'm willing to take."

Crowley raised a hand. Sarah didn't know if demons worked like God, but just in case she couldn't let him snap his fingers. She lunged from the doorway, showering him with salt. Crowley cried out in pain or surprise, Sarah wasn't sure, and his skin smoked a little where the salt touched him. She kept emptying the canister in his direction, forcing him a few feet back. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus, uh, om—"

Sarah's breath left her as she slammed into the wall with force. The canister of salt fell to the floor, spilling everywhere. Lucifer tried to edge gingerly towards it, but Crowley twisted his wrist and he, too, was pinned against the wall.

Crowley advanced on Sarah, unconcerned about his smoking skin as it knit back together before her eyes. "You must be the babysitter." He sounded amused, which would have bothered her more if she weren't struggling for breath. "Really pulled the short straw, getting stuck with him. Now, I hear that you and Lucy here have a most peculiar connection…"

Crowley raised his right hand towards Sarah and extended just his index finger. As the digit straightened, Sarah hissed as blood trickled down her left cheek. Crowley raised his eyebrows, looking between Sarah and Lucifer and grinning a satisfied, boyish grin at the sight of the blood now pouring down Lucifer's cheek. "How fascinating. Unfortunately for you, darling, I want Lucifer dead, which means that you'll have to die, as well."

"No," Lucifer ground out, blood staining his mouth.

Crowley turned, eyebrow arched in surprise. "No?" He stalked closer to Lucifer, ignoring Sarah. "Come now. You haven't gone soft on me, have you?" Crowley make a sympathetic noise. "Crush on the babysitter?"

"The connection only works one way," Lucifer rasped. "Killing her kills me, not the other way around. She doesn't have to die."

Crowley hummed doubtfully. "That's not how I heard it."

Lucifer, powerless and pinned to the wall, still had the sass to roll his eyes. "She was  _bluffing_ , last time. We all know any reasonably intelligent ape can pull one over on the Winchesters."

"Fair," Crowley acknowledged. "Well, there's an easy way to test that." He gestured sharply with his left hand, and a bloody gash opened on Lucifer's other cheek. Crowley glanced at Sarah's face, untouched by his latest assault, and quirked an eyebrow. "Well, fancy that. It is true. Good news, babysitter. You don't have to die today." He raised one hand, then paused. "Although…"

Crowley turned a speculative eye to Lucifer. "You're going to die either way. The only life you've saved today is hers." Crowley leaned closer, eyes narrowed, then pulled away with a disbelieving laugh. "You  _care_  about her!" Crowley looked between them once more, and was it just a trick of the light, or were his eyes red? "You know, maybe I shouldn't let her go… maybe I should kill her, slowly, and take away your little pet as recompense for every injustice you ever visited upon me."

"The Winchesters will go after you," Lucifer said easily, sounding unconcerned despite the threats and the blood sticking to his face.

"Nah, I doubt it," Crowley said, shrugging. "Bit put out, maybe. Yelling, a few death threats. But they can't possibly care too much about her, or they'd never have left her alone with you."

Some of Lucifer's over-confident facade seemed to drop then. He looked grave, and the blood on his face made the look unnerving. "Let her go."

Crowley smiled. "Look at you dance. You know, I will, but only because you're embarrassing yourself. It's ruining my fun." Crowley snapped, Sarah dropped heavily to the floor, and Lucifer hid a wince. Crowley waved a hand at her without looking. "Run along now, girl. Nightmare's over, you're free."

Sarah stood, shaking, and looked to Lucifer for some clue, for a plan. He glanced at her only briefly, nodded minutely towards the front door, and then his eyes were fixed on Crowley.

He wanted her to leave?  _Seriously_? No way. She hadn't spent months of her life taking care of Lucifer and lied to people trying to kill him just to walk away and let him die. Sarah shook her head and backed into the kitchen quietly, trying to think. Crowley was too powerful, and the devil's trap was broken. She wouldn't have a chance to fix it. Salt hurt him, but not enough to disable him. She wouldn't be able to get through a whole exorcism, not unless she could trap him. Which she couldn't. Sarah cursed, peeking around the door warily.

"You know, in a way this is a relief," Crowley said brightly. He had produced a large, wicked-looking knife from seemingly nowhere. "I had thought about doing this quick, you know, for the girl's sake." He brought the knife up and sliced through Lucifer's shirt in one jerking motion, revealing pale, vulnerable flesh. "But now I won't have even the teensiest bit of remorse about doing this nice…" He touched the blade to Lucifer's sternum. "And…" He pressed ever so lightly. Blood beaded on the tip of the knife. "Slow."

Sarah looked away, bile rising in her throat. What the hell could she do? Demons were super strong. They didn't have the same weaknesses as their human vessels… Sarah cast around for anything she could use to stop Crowley before he killed Lucifer. Knives, useless. Salt, basically useless. Frying pan— _frying pan_. Her grandmother's old  _cast iron_  frying pan. Iron was like salt to demons, it burned them, and the frying pan was heavy. If she could swing it hard enough, catch him by surprise, Sarah might be able to knock him out.

With shaking hands, she reached out and grabbed it. She slowly edged once more to the doorway. She glanced out.

Red blood shone on the knife. Crowley looked pleased, Lucifer bored. As Sarah watched, his jaw cracked in a loud yawn. "You know, for the so-called 'King of Hell', the torture's pretty underwhelming," Lucifer drawled lazily.

"All in good time." Sarah held her breath as Crowley fixed his eyes on Lucifer's face, a cold smile stretching his lips. She gripped the handle of the pan tightly and edged her foot around the corner. "I happen to like a little foreplay."

Sarah jumped forward and brought the pan down in one swing. Crowley was knocked to the floor with a howl and a sickening crunch. The sheer force of the blow knocked the pan from Sarah's hands and sent it clattering to the floor. Lucifer, too, dropped, though he looked annoyed.

"Are you concussed?" He demanded. "Have you forgotten what  _run_  means?" He scooped up the pan and ushered Sarah back towards the fallen canister of salt from earlier. "Make a circle and get in it." Sarah moved to obey as Lucifer hefted the pan, aiming another swing for Crowley's head. It was too late.

Crowley waved a hand and the pan went flying through the window of the main room. Another wave and Lucifer and Sarah were tossed hard against the wall again. A third got rid of the salt Sarah had just poured out.

"You utter bitch." Crowley dabbed at his bloody lip with a handkerchief, glaring at her as his skull fused back together with soft popping noises and the burnt skin of his face faded into new, pale, untouched skin. "I was a good boy. I let you live! And this is how you repay me?" Crowley tucked away the handkerchief, scowling at both her and Lucifer. "Should have known better, with the company you keep."

"You should have run." Lucifer's scolding didn't have much bite to it. He looked resigned.

"What kind of babysitter would I be if I just an away and let you die?" Sarah joked half-heartedly. "Couldn't do it."

"Very well then," Crowley said easily, picking up his discarded knife and twirling it jauntily. "Have it your way." He shoved the knife into Sarah's shoulder.

The pain didn't kick in at first. Sarah let out a startled scream from the force, but for a moment she thought, wildly, that being stabbed wasn't so bad. Then Crowley slid out the knife, slowly, and Sarah's ears rang with the sound. It took her a moment to realize that was her own scream. Warm blood soaked her shirt and dots danced in her vision.

It sounded like Lucifer was talking, but she couldn't hear him properly, because Crowley had slid the knife into her gut this time, and again, and again. She couldn't scream anymore, but she thought she might still be talking. Babbling apologies, because somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that Lucifer was bleeding out, too.

Sarah didn't know how long it took before she fell away from the wall. Maybe she hadn't been pinned there after all. Was anything real?

"No, no, no, no, no," Lucifer's voice was a little clearer now. Sarah spotted his face, bloody and pained and distraught hovering above her. His light from the window lit him from the back, creating a halo effect around him, and Sarah remembered suddenly that he was an angel.

"Lucifer." Sarah put her hand against his face to get him to stop muttering, and was distracted for just a moment at the sight of her blood mingling with his own. His jaw snapped shut, eyes on her, terrified and wounded and bright. "There really is a heaven, right? That part was real?"

Lucifer shuddered against her and ripped her hand off his cheek. "Yes, it's real. But you're not going there right now." Lucifer hunched over her, clasping her hand tightly in his, and closed his eyes in deep concentration. Or maybe it was prayer, Sarah thought, with the way his lips were moving desperately. She wondered if anyone would hear him if he was. If anyone was listening.

"Isn't this touching?" Crowley was still here? Sarah lolled her head to the side and was able to catch a glimpse of his shiny black shoes. That made sense, she supposed. Best to watch them bleed out, make sure they died properly. Not like all those TV villains, assuming the job was done and having it come back to bite them.

Sarah felt cold now. This must be what dying felt like, she thought. She used the last of her energy to loll her head back again. If she was going to die, she'd rather do it looking at Lucifer than looking at her murderer's shoes. Sarah gazed up at his bloody face, resigned, but her vision didn't go dark like she thought it would. It actually seemed to get… brighter? She was really cold, now, and confused, because surely dying and  _feeling_  cold wouldn't cause her breath to mist in the air in front of her like this?

Above her, Lucifer seemed to relax with a sigh, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his face. When he opened his eyes, they glowed from within, like hot coals from a fire.

"Close your eyes, Sarah," he said, voice almost fond. Sarah did.

"Oh, bollocks," Crowley said, and then it was bright. Even against her closed eyelids the light was bright, blinding, and even after it had gone dark again and she could open them, Sarah had to blink multiple times to clear the spots in her vision.

When she did, she stared. Lucifer was bloody, but whole. The gashes on his cheeks had healed completely, and after a moment Sarah realized she must be healed, too, because the only pain she felt now was from her tailbone digging into the hardwood floor.

Sarah swallowed and managed a shaky smile. "Way to go, Thor."

Because he was an angel again. She could tell. Not just because he'd healed her, and the only evidence of her mortal wound was the blood soaking her clothes and Lucifer's hands. She could tell by the light in his eyes, the relief in his shoulders. She watched, holding her breath, waiting for him to pull away and disappear. To kill her, if he still wanted to, or to re-start the apocalypse, or to hunt down his father, wherever he was in the universe.

Instead, he breathed a short, shuddering sigh of relief, and kissed her.

Sarah froze in surprise. His lips were cool and insistent, one bloody hand cupping her face, eyes closed in concentration and something pained she couldn't name. Sarah let her own eyes drift shut, wondering vaguely how he could kiss so passionately when he had so little practice.

He kissed her fiercely. He clutched her shoulders like he was a dying of thirst, and she was water. He clasped her like she would float away if he didn't hold her tight enough. He kissed her like he was afraid that, any moment, she would come to her senses and shove him away.

She didn't come to her senses. She pulled him closer.


End file.
